Butterfly
by WitchwithKids
Summary: Surviving is all Daryl Dixon has ever known. Living day-to-day in a world populated by the dead is second-nature to him. But will he meet his match in a tattooed street-racer from Miami with scars and skills he's never encountered? AU-ish Rated "M" for language, adult situations & mild horror/gore/violence. Daryl/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The story you are about to read is a piece of fiction. I own none of the characters from either "The Walking Dead" television show or comics. Those lie within the realm of creative genius Robert Kirkman and his skilled team of artists. Mr. Kirkman, I salute you!**

_Fast on a rough road riding_

_High through the mountains climbing_

_Twistin', turnin' further from my home_

_Young like a new moon rising_

_Fierce through the rain and lightning_

_Wandering out into this great unknown_

_And I don't want no one to cry_

_But tell 'em if I don't survive_

_I was born free…_

Trish woke for the first time in four days to the sound of Fish's whine. Snapping her eyes open and grabbing for her gear, she noticed that the little dog wasn't panicked, and relaxed a bit. Not the pee-pee dance. Not the oh-fuck-there's-walkers-around crouch. No, this was the I-smell-people strut. Thanking whatever god had blessed her with such a brilliant pooch, Trish took her time to prepare herself for whomever she would be encountering in the store below the apartment she had been squatting in.

There were two men, if the muffled sounds of their voices were any indication. One sounded a little hot-headed, which was confirmed as someone pounded on the rear door that had been padlocked closed. A quick peek out the window showed walkers gathering in the front, which would explain the freak-out, but they didn't know what Trish knew.

With a smirk, she crouched next to the trap door she had used to get into the apartment. Obviously they hadn't seen it since she had also pulled up the rope to prevent anyone else from getting the jump on her. As she turned the latch, a part of her hoped it would smack Grumpy as it swung down, but sadly it didn't descend fast enough to catch him off guard. He **was**, however, squatting on the floor where he'd had to leap out of the way. A quick analysis pegged him at mid-thirties and used to being in charge.

"Grab what you came here for and then come on up. I know a way out," she said to the quieter man, an Asian who looked a few years younger than herself. This one didn't waste any time heaving a pack over his shoulder and making his way up the ladder. Trish ignored Grumpy and returned to her gear, doing a quick sweep of the apartment to make sure there was nothing she had missed. She saw the younger man at the window, peeking through the curtains at the walkers gathered below.

"Where's your ride?" she asked him.

"About three blocks north," Grumpy said, heaving the trapdoor closed after finally getting off his ass and joining them upstairs. She noticed the way he looked at her, with his gaze resting on the shoulder holster she had equipped for her side-arm. Military or law-enforcement, she decided. Any other man would've been ogling her breasts or her tattoos.

"Easy enough," she said, grabbing her jacket from the couch and swinging it on fluidly. "My bike's out back. I can draw them away so you can get to it."

"Take Glenn with you."

Trish shook her head. "No passengers."

"No, he's right," the Asian boy, Glenn, said. "We've both got supplies that we need to get back to our camp. If something happens to one of us, at least the other has a chance of getting there."

Camp. Which meant a group. Trish hated groups. But she had to admit that the men were right about splitting up. Tactically, it was the best thing to do. "Fine," she said, grabbing her pack and shoving past Grumpy to unlock the door that led to the fire exit. Clucking her tongue for Fish to come along, she didn't wait to see if the men would follow.

**lyric credits** "Born Free" by Kid Rock


	2. Chapter 2

_She follows the path of least resistance_

_She doesn't care to see the mountaintop_

_She twists and turns with no regard to distance_

_She never comes to a stop_

_And she rolls, she's a river_

_Where she goes, time will tell_

_Heaven knows, he can't go with her_

_And she rolls, all by herself_

_All by herself_

_He's headed for a single destination_

_He doesn't care what's standing in his path_

_He's a line between two points of separation_

_He ends just where it says to on the map_

_And he rolls, he's a highway_

_Where he goes, time will tell_

_Heaven knows, she can't go with him_

_And he rolls, all by himself_

_All by himself_

The escape had gone more smoothly than she had expected. At least, as far as things on Trish's end had gone. Glenn had seen Grumpy…Shane…get to the prissy Hyundai crossover before they backtracked through town and sped off down the highway. And she'd only had to waste a single bullet to get the walkers' attention.

Once they were about five miles out, she pulled back on the throttle and slowed the Honda to a more comfortable speed. Fish was still curled up in her lap, but she felt Glenn relax on the pad behind her.

"How many people in your camp?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Eleven."

"Great. A travelling buffet," Trish mumbled, putting her focus back on the road. She didn't bother asking any more questions, figuring the answers wouldn't be anything she'd like anyway. Being a loner had its drawbacks, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let herself get saddled with another group of useless people. Not having anyone else to worry about had kept her one step ahead of the game. Anytime there was a group…well, it never ended good.

Their site was tucked into a grove of trees. Stupid, she thought, since walkers could just wander in and they wouldn't notice until it was too late, even with the old man up on top of the RV. Glenn waved at him, but Trish knew they would be suspicious of the newcomer. If there was one thing she had learned about groups of survivors, it was how they didn't like outsiders. And Trish…well, Trish certainly didn't look like she was native to the backwoods of Georgia.

She stopped short of riding all the way in, letting Glenn get off the back of the bike to join his group. People made her nervous. She both craved and loathed having other living, breathing humans to visit with. Her hands started twitching and she reached into the compartment where she had stashed her cigarettes. _Fuckin' people_, she thought, lighting up a smoke and suppressing the images that had popped into her head.

Fish had hopped off the bike to squat in the grass a few feet away, but the little mutt had never been a problem. She could be on the other side of camp, but as soon as Trish revved the Honda, she'd find a way into her spot in the woman's lap. But someone approaching had caught the dog's attention, and Trish crushed out the cherry in her cigarette when she noticed that one of the two women was pregnant. She was skinny as all get-out, but it served to make the beginnings of a baby-bump stand out and Trish felt a pang of empathy for the woman.

"Glenn told us what happened in town," the pregnant one said, extending a hand. "Thanks for getting the guys out safe. I'm Lori. This is Maggie." Trish shook her hand.

"Trish. Still waiting on one," she mentioned casually, looking back at the empty road. When Trish turned around, there was a third woman marching towards them. She looked pissed.

"Where's Shane?" she yelled, still several yards away but closing distance and reaching for something tucked in the back of her pants. A hot-tempered blonde. The perfect mate for Grumpy. And it was a gun she was looking for, apparently.

"Shane's a quarter mile out, heading this way," the old man on lookout shouted in response. But that didn't stop the blonde from flashing her piece in front of Trish's face. Lori had backed away and Trish could feel her own temper rising. Without flinching, she relit her cigarette and glared at the bitch with the gun.

"Where you from?" Blondie asked.

"Miami."

"Why didn't you stay there?"

Trish took a long drag before answering. "Because hurricanes, gators and zombies were bad for business."

The one called Maggie covered her mouth to smother a grin and Blondie huffed in frustration. Lowering her gun, she turned and stomped off in the direction she had come from as the Hyundai pulled into camp.

"How the hell are you not overrun with walkers having those two in your camp?" she asked, gesturing at the loudmouthed couple. Blondie had draped herself over Grumpy as he got out of the car, making sure to spare an icy glance towards Trish.

"Been asking that for months," came a voice from behind her. When she turned, Trish saw a dirty man leaning against a tree with a crossbow slung over his shoulder. Everything about him screamed "redneck" at her, from the pants belted at the waist with rope to the plaid shirt with ripped-off sleeves that showed off the well-defined…

_Holy shit, are you checking this guy __**out**_, she asked herself. _Could he possibly be __**more**__ different from you?_

…well-defined muscles of his arms.

His eyes narrowed when he saw her analyzing him, and Trish prayed that she wasn't transparent about **why** she was looking at him so meticulously. It's not like she hadn't ever seen an attractive man before. Plenty who were better looking, truth be told. She'd even had her share of dangerous boyfriends, but this man…he was a whole level of dangerous she'd never dealt with before.

They had been watching each other for mere seconds, but it felt like minutes had passed. So when he walked towards her and plucked the cigarette from her grip, she was surprised that it hadn't burned down to ash.

"I'll bet a whole pack that you're gonna wanna shoot Andrea before the day is over," he said, taking a drag and handing it back. Tension practically crackled in the air between them. Their fingers brushed when she took it and he pulled his hand back as if he had been stung. When Trish looked up at him, his pupils were wide and his breathing had increased.

"Trish, this is Daryl," Maggie said, stepping in to break the awkwardness that had managed to settle between the pair. He relaxed, but walked away after a nod of acknowledgement. "Well, that **was** Daryl. Why don't you come with us and meet everyone else."

It wasn't a question. So far, she liked Maggie and Lori, at least well enough that she was willing to put up with the two she didn't like. Since they had already started heading into camp, Trish whistled low for Fish and manually wheeled the bike further into the trees. She parked it next to a classic Triumph, and was silently pleased that there was someone else around who knew motorcycles.

Even for October, it was still hot in Georgia. Trish shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the seat of her bike on top of her backpack, quickening her pace to catch up with Maggie. The man standing watch was Dale, who narrowed his eyes at her ink before returning to his post. Inside the RV was a mouse of a woman named Carol and Lori's son, Carl. Her husband, Rick, was getting a fire started while a burly black man called T-Dog chopped firewood nearby.

Everyone seemed to have a place in this group. The camp ran efficiently and Trish was certainly out of her element. Even Shane and Andrea fit in to this makeshift family. Lori and Maggie continued to talk to her, but she had already begun to tune them out. Couldn't afford to get sucked into a new group. Nothing but trouble there.

That was when Glenn walked up, kissed Maggie and whispered something in her ear. The young woman's eyes softened and she nodded while looking over at Trish. As she and Lori walked off, Glenn tapped Trish's arm and motioned for her to follow as they made their way back to the RV.

"I lived in Atlanta before the outbreak," he said casually. "So did T-Dog. But we've been out of the city for a while. You still have it written all over your face." He motioned at Dale that they would be taking his place at watch, then began climbing the ladder. When she followed, the older man took his leave.

"I'm not looking for a place in your group," she confessed once they were alone.

"I don't expect anyone will be asking you right away," he replied with a chuckle. "I'm just saying, don't automatically feel left out just because you don't exactly fit in. They'll feed you and give you a spot to sleep tonight for getting Shane and I out, but you're welcome to leave whenever you want."

"Man, I have landed myself smack in the middle of Bumfuck, Egypt, haven't I?" Trish said, scanning the horizon. There was a much better view than she was expecting.

"No," Glenn said. "Bumfuck, Georgia. It's much worse."

"How do you figure?"

"Ticks."

Daryl busied himself around camp, making sure to keep the new girl in his sight. His morning hunt had turned up a pair of fat pheasants, which Lori and Carol had begun to prep. Once he had done a quick equipment check, he propped himself up against a tree with a book in his hand for a well-deserved rest. Nobody complained at his apparent slacking. Before providing the meat for the evening meal, he had been up on watch for most of the night. But reading was the last thing Daryl wanted to do.

He wasn't the only one watching Trish. Rick was transparent. He wanted to keep her, but wasn't quite sure where she'd fit in. Shane's thinly veiled glances in her direction warred between his respect for what she had done in town and something … predatory. This only made the looks Andrea threw off even nastier, but Andrea just didn't like anyone prettier than her, and Trish took that prize hands down.

To Daryl, she was a puzzle. Never in his life had he come across a woman who reeked of the city, but obviously knew bikes. He had seen how she looked at the chopper…**his** now, not Merle's. And the Honda she had rolled in on had obviously been chosen for a life on the road. Two small glove compartments in the dash, and a decent-sized under-the-seat saddle bag that he guessed was large enough to hold a couple spare changes of clothes, snacks and extra clips for the piece she wore in the shoulder-holster. And didn't include whatever may have been in the pack that was hidden under her jacket.

She had been wearing it earlier in the day, but Daryl, and everyone else for that matter, could clearly see the sleeve tattooed onto Trish's bared left arm from her position on top of the RV. The few times she fluffed her hair to cool her neck, he could see the same pattern peeking from under the collar of her t-shirt. The ink, the bike, the jacket…those weren't cheap to come by, so she obviously hadn't raided a Wal-Mart when the world ended. And cigarettes. Who the fuck cared to bother with grabbing cigarettes anymore?

"Street racer." Daryl wasn't sure he heard T-Dog correctly, and spared the man a glance as his tent-mate moved to stood nearby. "Home girl was a street racer."

"Huh. Never heard of chicks doin' that."

"It's a rare breed," the black man continued. "The girls that race have to be pretty bad ass. The boys don't think they can keep up, and the girlfriends don't like the attention they get. **Especially** the white girls."

"How you figure?"

"In the city, racing's usually somehow tied in with gangs. She's from Miami. That place is practically crawling with Cubans and Puerto Ricans."

There was a silence that fell between the two men, but neither moved as they continued to watch Trish. She didn't pace the roof or plop herself in the lawn chair like the others did, but instead had taken a knee over the cab of the RV as she scanned the horizon with the binoculars that Glenn had given her. A bottle of water sat near her left boot, which she sipped at sparingly. And she was very subtly observing the camp. Daryl wasn't sure if anyone else had caught it, but he certainly had.

"She don't like groups," he mentioned casually. As if she had heard him, or maybe was just sensitive to being openly scrutinized, Trish turned and looked his direction. She startled, obviously not expecting to meet Daryl's gaze, but composed herself well enough. Her eyes flicked to the bikes a few feet away from where he sat, then returned to him.

The question was in her expression, silent, and meant only for him. Daryl shifted his eyes in the same direction, and gave a slight nod as he looked back. She had figured out in a single glance what nobody else in camp had deduced in nearly six months.

"Guess that's something y'all have in common," T-Dog joked, oblivious to the wordless exchange.

_You have no idea_, Daryl thought, standing and stretching his legs.

**lyric credit** "The River and the Highway" by Pam Tillis


	3. Chapter 3

_What I've felt_

_What I've known_

_Turn the pages, turn the stone_

_Behind the door_

_Should I open it for you?_

_What I've felt_

_What I've known_

_Sick and tired, I stand alone_

_Could you be there_

_Cause I'm the one who waits for you_

_Or are you unforgiven, too?_

It was the smell of food once the sun had gone down that finally brought Trish down from the roof of the RV. Even after Glenn had left and Carol decided to join her for a bit, she was content to quietly observe. Fish had found a playmate in Carl, and she noticed the dog curled up in the boy's lap while he ate. This was no place for Trish. Even after Lori had passed her a bowl of some sort of stew and a hunk of pheasant meat, she tried to slip away.

"No such luck, City Girl," said a voice from the wooded darkness. Daryl came from the side to cup her elbow and steer her back towards the group at the fire. "If **I** have to join this ritual every damn night, you can do it once." He didn't move his hand until she was standing in front of an empty chair, nodding his approval when she sat.

Everyone ate in silence for a bit, but Trish could feel them watching her. Daryl had parked himself on the ground next to her since evidently he had given her his seat, and that had apparently been the signal to start conversation.

"I hear you're from Miami," Rick started, prompting Trish into telling them more about herself.

"South Beach, yeah. My dad and I ran a bike shop down there."

"Sellin' or fixin'?" Daryl asked.

"Fixin'. I've been turning wrenches since I was about ten." Her reply got an approving nod from at least three of the men sitting around the fire, including the one who had asked.

Trish went on to tell them that she had gotten her first motorcycle at the age of twelve, and was introduced to the Miami street race scene at sixteen. She'd been in her fair share of brawls, mostly with girls who were chasing the boys she raced against, but bikes had always interested her more than men. It had earned her the nickname "Máquina," and had been the inspiration behind her tattoo.

"Did you know that Miami Ink guy?" She prickled at Andrea's question. Something about the way it was phrased to imply Trish had been sleeping with him, maybe…

"Ran into him a few times. Knew the wife of one of his employees. But no," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't know him personally."

"So who did your sleeve?"

"More than a sleeve, T-Dog. And no, I won't show you the rest of it," she chuckled.

"Well, you're probably bunking with Daryl and I tonight. It can be arr…" T-Dog stopped when he noticed Daryl glaring at him. But even if she wasn't willing to strip down and show them, Trish was at least willing to tell them about it.

It had taken the better part of two years to complete and covered nearly the entire left side of her body. Designed to appear as if chunks of skin had been torn off to reveal a cybernetic body underneath, Trish was extremely proud of it. Showing it off had never been a problem for her before the world went to hell in a hand basket, but now… Now, anonymity gave her a better advantage, so she kept it covered as much as possible, she told them.

"Hell, show it off," T-Dog encouraged. "Worst it can do now is entertain some nerd's weird fantasy."

The joke had gone too far. Trish knew he had just been teasing, but the implication caused her to posture to stiffen and her eyes widened. She forced herself to close her eyes and count to ten, but it didn't work. She wasn't mad. He didn't know. How could she be mad?

Panic was welling up in her again, and Trish excused herself before anyone could see the tears welling up. Making a beeline for her bike, she paused only long enough to grab her jacket and her smokes before walking to the edge of the trees. There was a fence barely within sight of the RV, which she leaned against as she attempted to light a cigarette.

It didn't work. Memories flooded her mind and her stomach churned at the thought of what had been done. Sinking to her knees, Trish regurgitated what little dinner she had managed to eat.

Someone had followed her. As she sat by the fence, heaving and sobbing, Trish felt gentle hands pull her hair out away from her face. Once it had been tied back, she saw a canteen on the perimeter of her vision, held by Carol. Standing a bit farther away, keeping the others back, was Daryl.

Rinse and spit. Repeat.

"Thank you," she whispered, letting Carol help her stand. She had managed to regain enough strength to lean against the fence, and by the time Daryl had cleared the crowd the shaking had stopped. When he approached, she lit two smokes and handed him one.

"T didn't mean nothin' by what he said."

"I know."

The three of them stood in silence for a few more moments as Trish contemplated her options. Should she tell them about what happened in Jacksonville? There was something about these two that was different from the others. As if they were somehow…more broken…than the rest of the survivors in their camp. She looked at each of them. Carol was wracked with concern, Daryl acting standoffish but the way he hovered nearby indicated curiosity.

Trish slipped out of her jacket and shoulder holster, then raised the bracelets that had been covering her left wrist up to her forearm. There was a nearly full moon out, so they could clearly see the scars. Carol let a soft gasp escape, but otherwise neither said anything.

Turning her back on them, Trish lifted her shirt over her head. This time, Carol did more than just gasp.

"He b…br…"

"Branded her, Carol," finished Daryl, touching the bubbled scar on Trish's left shoulder. He seemed to be completely ignoring the fact that she was pretty much nude from the waist up save for her bra. "This is pretty recent, too."

"About three months ago."

"I think I…need to excuse myself," Carol said suddenly, a sob breaking in the back of her throat. As Trish turned, she lowered her shirt.

"So," Daryl started, dragging on his smoke, "she cries, I get pissy and you throw up."

"Coping mechanisms?" she guessed. When he nodded, Trish managed a smile.

They stood there, leaning against the fence, smoking their cigarettes, listening to the sounds of the night. Camp was already starting to shut down and miraculously there hadn't been a single walker sighted all day. Trish had debated putting her coat back on, but Daryl was radiating his own heat and close enough that she could feel it. With Carol gone, the tension from earlier in the day had begun to build again, and she suddenly realized that she had pretty much bared herself to him when showing them the brand.

"We should probably get back," she suggested, squashing the butt on the fence post. Daryl did the same, but didn't say a word. He took one tiny step closer…

"If you don't wanna stay with me and T-Dog…"

"No, I…I'll be fine," she stammered. "Unless you don't want…"

"Oh, I **want**." He reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear and she bit her lip. "But I'll behave."

Trish was thankful that Daryl didn't look back when he walked away, for he surely would've seen her placing her hand over the tiny spot on her cheek where his thumb had briefly caressed it.

* * *

><p><em>Just where the hell did <em>_**that**__ come from, _Daryl asked himself as he strode into camp, but he knew the answer. His mood soured immediately and his campmates gave him a wide berth as he passed by. "Settin' the wires," he mentioned. He was pretty sure they hadn't been done yet, and it would give him something to do until he sorted out **what**, exactly, had just happened with Trish.

It wasn't the stupid foreign motorcycle. Not that fancy leather racing jacket. And when he closed his eyes and imagined her in the world before it had gone to shit, Daryl bet she had a sweet pair of riding chaps, but it wasn't **that** either. _God damnit, Dixon, that isn't helping._

It was the brand on the back of her shoulder. The scars on her wrist where she had been held against her will. She had been someone's goddamn property, and who knows what she had been made to do. But Trish had found a way out. Had gotten away. She survived. And she had moved on.

She was different from Carol, who had been subject to abuse from Ed for countless years. Carol still needed the group. And after Sophia… Well, it had been hard on all of them, but it was as if she had simply been going through the motions the past two months. Even Andrea had stayed on after the death of her sister, though some days Daryl wondered just what the hell Dale was thinking by talking her out of staying with Jenner at the CDC. Carol was good people, though, and even if she couldn't quite make it on her own, the group would feel it if they lost her.

Everyone in the group was someone else's reason to live. The Grimes' had each other. Shane stayed for them, too, even if he stepped out of line more often than not. Andrea stayed for Shane and her own sense of self-importance. Everyone else banded around each other. All but Daryl. Sure, he liked them well enough, but he stayed on more out of habit. If the shit ever truly hit the fan, he'd be gone.

Which brought him back to thinking about Trish. She wasn't even a part of the group. Not yet, anyway, if Rick were to have a say in it. But she had survived on her own for a good chunk of the past six months. Just her and that damned dog, and Daryl suspected that Fish was the one last tie to her old life. The way Merle's motorcycle was the last tie to his.

He looked into camp, watching Trish grab her backpack and fiddle with the Honda while she talked to T-Dog. The air seemed to have been cleared between them, but she wasn't going out of her way to be friendly. Just making small talk. She was certainly not trying to form any bonds here.

Daryl tied off the last of the perimeter wires just as he watched Trish disappear into the tent with her pack. There was a bite in the air, and he hoped that the spare bedding they had dug up would keep her warm enough. Not that he cared. Daryl Dixon just didn't care.

_Bullshit_, that inner voice piped up.

"Shut up," he told it. "I **don't**." But he hadn't done a very good job of convincing himself of that fact quite yet.

* * *

><p>Trish had just settled into the sleeping bag when she heard someone pull on the tent flap. Daryl's head popped in, faintly outlined by the moonlight. He frowned at the contraption in her hand, which brought a smile to <strong>her<strong> face.

"That one of those iThings?" Trish nodded. "How?"

"I found it in an empty hotel just north of Jacksonville. The bike has a built-in charger. Do the math."

"Whatever. Don't expect me to save you if you can't hear the walkers coming."

"That's what Fish is for." At her name, the little Papillon popped her head up from her spot near Trish's shoulder. Daryl looked slightly less annoyed, but said nothing. Figuring their conversation was over, she inserted the ear buds and began shuffling through the playlists as he removed himself back into the night. Trish was just about to turn on the music when she heard Daryl talking with T-Dog.

"Sure she's ok?" T-Dog ventured to ask.

"Seems to be. Figured if there was really a problem she'd be curled up next to that bike instead of in the tent, right?"

"Not really the friendly sort, is she?"

"Told ya. She don't like people."

"Kinda' like you, huh?" It was silent for a moment, and Trish realized she was waiting as anxiously for Daryl's answer as T-Dog was.

"Kinda."

There was shuffling as she realized they were coming back to the tent, so Trish quickly rolled to her side and pretended to be listening to the iPod. Just in time, for first T-Dog, then Daryl crawled through the flap then zipped it up tight.

T-Dog was asleep almost as soon as he hit the sack, and she envied that he could do that. As Daryl shifted and tossed next to her, she decided that yes, she really would need the music to help her relax tonight. Having Tall, Hick and Handsome less than six inches away was entirely too distracting.

* * *

><p>**lyric credit** "Unforgiven II" by Metallica<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey kid - do I have your attention?_

_I know the way you've been livin'_

_Life so reckless, tragedy endless_

_Welcome to the family._

_Hey - There's something missing_

_Only time will alter your vision_

_Never in question, lethal injection_

_Welcome to the family._

_Not long ago you'd find the answers were so crystal clear_

_Within a day you found yourself living in constant fear_

_Can you look at yourself now? Can you look at yourself?_

_You can't win this fight_

Daryl had faded in and out of sleep for most of the night. It wasn't much of a surprise, considering he never could get more than a couple hours of rest most of the time anyway, but Trish's presence next to him was overwhelming. She was everything he wanted and everything he loathed rolled up into a single package.

City girl. God damn, he hated city girls. Fancy bike, fancy clothes, fancy dog. She had all of that. Nail polish and cigarettes. Leather jacket and satin lingerie. Or, at least, Daryl had guessed it to be satin. _Shut up_, he told the little head. _Not doin' me any favors thinkin' that way._

They had been alone in the tent ever since Shane had come to get T-Dog for his shift on watch as the moon hung low in the early morning sky. At some point during the night, Trish had put away the music player, and they had managed to scoot towards each other in their sleep. When he was finally awake enough, Daryl noticed something else. Both had been wrapped up tight in their individual bundles, but had settled into a comfortable position with their backs touching from shoulder to hip.

The sounds of others beginning to stir in the pre-dawn finally convinced Daryl to move. Nature called, motivating him to move a little faster as he crawled out of the tent and stuffed his feet into boots without bothering to tie them. Once he had finished his business a few yards away, a glance back towards camp showed him that Trish hadn't been too far behind him in waking up.

The morning routine didn't come to a grinding halt just because there was an extra body in the way, and Daryl didn't waste time getting to it. Water needed to be hauled up and put in containers for the next leg of the trip to Ft. Benning. Vehicles needed to be packed. Tents needed to be torn down. Bedrolls needed to be…

"I'll be damned," he mentioned casually, setting the bucket of spring water he had fetched near the fire pit. Daryl filched a hot piece of frying meat from the pan Carol was cooking in and received a playful slap on the wrist, which he promptly ignored. He ate it as he approached his tent, which Maggie was already starting to pull stakes on. A few feet away, Trish was attempting to roll up the sleeping bags.

"I'll get those," he told her, squatting down and taking the rope out of her hand. She had been fiddling with **his** bedroll, and there was a certain way it needed to be done for it to fit on the bike. "Help Maggie."

The two women made short work of breaking down Daryl's little corner of the camp. There wasn't much talking, which surprised him. Weren't women supposed to be chatty and gossipy? But Trish did more observing than talking, and Maggie was more than happy to show, not tell.

Glenn had approached them just as the ladies were tying up the tent, pressing his lips against Maggie's neck. Her reaction was instant as her pupils dilated, then closed to slits. The little displays of affection between the two weren't usually worth much to notice, but their attraction to one another was always apparent. Daryl couldn't have picked a more mismatched couple than the Asian pizza-delivery boy and the Southern farmer's daughter. Except for maybe…

Trish's face was a marvelous shade of red. And she was trying to look anywhere **except** the smooching couple ten feet away. Daryl whistled quick and low to get her attention, pointing first at the bundles near her feet and then at the RV. He saw her let out a breath she had been holding before she nodded in understanding. Not waiting around for any further help, Trish took off with as much gear as she could grab.

Daryl especially liked the hitch in her step from balancing a sleeping bag on her hip. She was wearing grey leggings, a dingy white men's dress shirt and pink low-top All-Stars. When she swayed just right, the shirt lifted and gave him an excellent view of her…

"Stop staring at her ass, Daryl." When he looked up to meet Maggie's gaze, he saw a bit of humor behind it.

"Might be the last I see of it," he teased back, but Daryl couldn't help but wonder just how much truth there was to that statement. Trish certainly wasn't making a beeline out of camp, and Rick had glanced her way a time or two since sunrise.

"Never thought I'd see the day when you were checking out a girl," Glenn added.

"Never been one worth it."

* * *

><p>Trish was thanking Daryl in her head as she marched towards the RV with the camping gear. Being around other couples made her squeamish. It wasn't that she didn't like Glenn and Maggie. Trish just didn't see the need to be present when they decided to suck face in the middle of camp.<p>

"You didn't have to help break camp," Carol said warmly, meeting Trish at the door of the camper and grabbing one of the sleeping bags.

"You guys put me up. Least I could do." She followed the older woman around the vehicle to stow the camping gear in the storage cubby. "Besides, I'm not used to being up so early. Needed to be productive to get my blood moving."

"I don't know how you do it on your own. The only one of us who might stand a chance is Daryl, but he has skills the rest of us could only dream of having."

Trish shrugged, trying to push the thoughts of the warm body she had slept next to out of her head. "Just a matter of staying quiet and out of sight."

"I don't imagine the motorcycle is all that quiet."

"No worse than any other vehicle. Besides, I usually hole up for a couple of days. It's long enough that walkers lose interest and move on."

"Good strategy," said Dale, coming up behind them with another load ready to be loaded. "If you're on your own. Not so great for a large group." She shrugged again, but softened it with a smile. These were good people, for the most part. "I trust the boys behaved last night."

Trish's heart skipped at Dale's words. Daryl had indeed behaved, as promised, and she had been all but oblivious to the presence of T-Dog. She didn't know how they had gravitated towards each other during the night, but Trish had felt Daryl's absence the moment he crawled out of his sleeping bag. Somehow, sleeping back-to-back the way they had gave her a sense of security that Trish didn't know she had been missing. "Everything was fine," she replied. "Except for the ground part."

Her response drew out a chuckle from Dale and a weary smile from Carol, who nodded at them both before slipping away. "I'm supposed to ask if you could go over the maps with Rick and Shane. They're over by the rest of cars." He nodded in the direction of the group of vehicles that were parked a few dozen yards away from the RV. The two men in question were indeed pouring over a map that had been spread out over the hood of a station wagon. Torn between wanting to help and wanting to leave, Trish's conscious got the better of her and she headed in their direction.

Rick caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and moved to open a space for her as she approached. As Trish slipped in between them, Shane's posture stiffened, but he otherwise said nothing to acknowledge her.

"If we take this route, it should be less congested," said Rick, drawing an invisible line along a series of highways with his finger. She followed it with her eyes until it settled on a place she recognized.

"Benning?"

"Yeah. If anyone's still around to help survivors, it will be there."

"Benning's gone." Both men stared at her in disbelief for a split second. Rick with a tinge of sadness, Shane with pure anger. It was making her uncomfortable, and she backed away as she felt the stirrings of another panic attack coming on. After taking a breath and calming herself, Trish continued, "Get your people together and I'll explain."

She walked away, but could still feel their gaze on her back as she went to the Honda and got her map from the backpack that someone had sat next to it. Daryl was getting his own bike ready for the road and looked at her quizzically.

"There's a hitch in your fearless leader's plan," she told him. "Might as well come along and hear the news."

* * *

><p>More than one person was fidgeting as the survivors sat around the campfire that T-Dog had extinguished less than an hour before. Daryl didn't know what Rick had told them all, but if it was as vague as what Trish had said, he couldn't blame them. If something was wrong with Ft. Benning, they would have to come up with a new plan. Rick didn't look too particularly happy about having to break the news, and Shane was downright fuming. Trish stood between them, then stepped forward when the former sheriff's officer nodded at her.<p>

"There's no way to sugar coat this," she started, "so I'm just going to come out and say it. Y'all are wasting your time with Fort Benning." Although she was looking at them all, judging their reactions, her hands were twisted together and she was chipping away at the polish on her nails. Everyone was wearing a shocked expression, right down to Carl, and Lori looked as if she might be on the verge of tears.

"So you're saying it's…overrun?" Dale ventured, probably assuming that was on everyone's mind at the announcement. But Trish shook her head.

"It's just gone. A big scar on the land it used to sit on." She narrowed her eyes and pressed the fingertips of one hand against her forehead. Another memory she'd rather forget. "Carpet bombed was the phrase I heard used to describe it." So she hadn't been traveling alone the entire time. Daryl tucked that bit of knowledge away as Andrea chimed in with her two cents.

"Well, we've seen signs for another military base around this area. Can we try there?"

"Robbins Air Force Base, yes. **They're** overrun."

"Serves 'em right," Shane said with a snort. "Bastards and their jets, bombing any place folks might go to for help."

There was another awkward silence that filled the camp. Trish faded back behind Rick, her part in the conversation seemingly done. With both local military bases taken off the list of options, Daryl began to run ideas in his head. Damn these people for making him worry about their well-being. If he had just left them behind, found Merle… _Merle's beyond your reach at this point_, the voice in his head reminded him. _If he even made it past the walkers in Atlanta, he wouldn't have survived long on his own with one hand missing._

"We should head back north," he finally said, cursing his conscience. "Get away from these towns and cities where all the walkers are collecting at."

"South would be better. Less hardship with winter coming," Dale argued.

"Every pussy with a mind on being comfortable will be heading to the coast. Too big of an infection risk if you ask me." More than a few heads nodded their agreement with him, which actually pleased Daryl. It was always surprising when they took him seriously, and they were beginning to do it more often than they used to.

"Well, North will have to be the new plan," Rick said with a sigh. "I need my drivers with me at the maps. And yes, that includes you if you want, Trish." She startled at the sound of her name, clearly not expecting him to include her. Obviously, she didn't know about the group's ability to collect strays. But as Daryl walked towards the station wagon to join Rick, Shane and Dale, he noticed that she wasn't too far behind.

* * *

><p>**lyric credit** "Welcome to the Family" by Avenged Sevenfold<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

_You were all that we needed_

_To believe in our doubt, the hurt we allowed_

_We had sworn to believe them_

_And scattered across our memories found_

_You were all that we needed_

_To believe in our doubt_

_The worse, I'm afraid_

_The hurt we allowed_

_We defied the lines and crossed_

_Into a great unknown to read_

_All the words we left out_

_In all, we all are truly afraid_

_In all, we are of the one thing we can't be_

_In all, we all are truly afraid_

_Wishing one day, we could be strong_

Three weeks. It had been three weeks and Trish was still riding with that damn group. She missed having a bed or a couch to sleep on at night. The ground was hard and the air was cold. And on this particular day, everyone had woken to see frost on the ground for the first time since walkers had started outnumbering the living.

But now Trish was in her element. Scouting a town for temporary living quarters. A trickier task than it had been to find an abandoned loft when she was on her own, maybe, but now she had a better idea of what the survivors needed and could find something appropriate.

She had slowly been teaching them the fine art of scrounging. As they passed through small communities, no service station, grocery store or boutique went unnoticed. They were starting to abandon their summer-weight clothes and pick up supplies they would need for winter. The previous day's journey into a town with an army surplus store had turned up a gold mine. But still they insisted on sleeping in tents, or in the RV. Nobody dared brave sleeping indoors where they could potentially be swarmed with walkers.

Rick had sent her into town with Daryl, T-Dog and Andrea to search for some sort of temporary living quarters to take the edge off the dropping temperatures while they prepped for the next stage of the journey. In a few more days, they would be passing I-75, their third and final interstate crossing since she had joined them. Daryl was driving them towards the Appalachians, hoping that the national park along the Tennessee-North Carolina border would find them some sort of relief to life on the road.

They had split off into pairs to get a feel for the town, and somehow Trish had gotten stuck with Andrea. There hadn't been any more of the open animosity from the first night, but they had never bothered to make friends. Mostly, Trish just ignored or avoided Blondie and Grumpy whenever she could.

"It's almost too quiet," her companion said softly, obviously just as uncomfortable with the pairing as Trish was. They had made their way to the small downtown area, taking note of the practically-untouched drugstore, bridal shop and tavern. Sure, there were signs that walkers had been here at some point, but there were none around that could be found now. The stench of death had long worn off of the few corpses that littered the streets, and it was almost as if the sleepy little town had just dried up and blown away after it was abandoned.

"Depends on how long everyone's been gone. And it's not picked clean yet, either."

"True. If there's nothing here to draw attention…"

"Shh…"

Andrea had spoken too soon. As they turned a corner, a single walker was sitting on a bench in front of a barber shop, looking their direction. It was emaciated, as if it had gone all this time without … eating. Fortunately, without any sort of sustenance, it moved slowly and Trish began to unsheathe the bowie knife Daryl had insisted she start wearing when they found it at the surplus store. Andrea reached for her gun, but Trish shook her head.

"Just gonna attract more."

It was disgustingly easy to kill. As it shambled along towards them, she was able to rush it, knock it to the ground and run her knife through its eye socket before the poor creature could even register that it needed to grab her. A handkerchief was sprouting from a coat pocket, which Trish promptly used to clean off the blade before stuffing the blood-soaked cloth back into the dead thing's jacket.

An hour and two more kills later, the women met up with Daryl and T-Dog where they had parked the vehicles, discovering that the men had found a small gated community they deemed suitable to live in for a couple of days. It had apparently been some sort of semi-assisted living facility, with a small rec hall, kitchen and nurse's station nestled in the center of four duplex housing units. It would be perfect to give everyone a bit of privacy finally. There was just one thing…

"Is it clear?" she asked.

"Is now," answered T-Dog. "There were only two, and they were outside, so all the beds are clean."

"Bed. Couch. Don't give a fuck. As long as it's not the ground."

"City Girl," she heard Daryl mutter under his breath. The corner of his mouth was turned up and there was a spark in his eye when Trish looked over at him. It wasn't the first time he'd called her that, but he had never used it as an insult.

"Hillbilly," she teased back. It was their game. Other than sharing a tent, they saw little of each other. She made town runs while he went hunting, they took separate watch shifts, and even when traveling they were always at opposite ends of the caravan. And still, somehow, she was closer to Daryl than any of the others. There was an understanding between them that went back to her first day in camp. _I can live without these people._

"Gotta get my bike," he said casually, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder and carrying on as if their little exchange hadn't happened. That was part of the game, too.

"Why don't y'all go back to get the others," T-Dog suggested. "Andrea and I can finish up and meet you at the houses."

"I don't ride bitch," Daryl announced, glancing at Trish's motorcycle.

"I could take you back in the car and Trish can stay," said Andrea. He looked as if he was seriously contemplating it, warring between the lesser of two evils. Finally, Daryl scrunched his face in frustration and stalked towards the Honda.

"Fine. I'll ride bitch."

* * *

><p>Daryl couldn't sleep.<p>

It had been easy enough to keep himself busy with getting settled into the duplexes, setting up a watch schedule, dinner with the group and putting together an action plan for while they were in town. But once everyone had settled in for the night and everything was quiet, his mind began to race. No matter how hard he tried, Daryl just couldn't get that five minute ride on the back of Trish's bike out of his head.

The way his hands had gripped her hips. The way he had molded himself to her back with his face buried in her neck to shield himself from the wind. He felt every shift in her muscles, every move she made to control the motorcycle. Trish smelled like dirt, sweat, smoke and something else that just embodied the essence of all that is female. And it was driving him mad with wanting her.

The bed was too empty, so he had tried moving to the couch. When that didn't work, Daryl resigned himself to getting dressed and slipping outside. He saw Maggie on the roof of the recreation building, sitting in the spot they had designated for watch. _Why the hell not_, he said to himself, climbing the ladder that had been set against the outside wall. Her only acknowledgement was to make room for him on the single flat spot available, which Daryl utilized to sit and scan the horizon in the opposite direction. They sat in silence for a while, passing the binoculars back and forth. Ten minutes, an hour. Daryl stopped keeping track of time ages ago.

"Looks like you're not the only one who can't sleep." He turned at Maggie's quiet announcement and gazed out across the yard. A brief flicker of flame and a puff of smoke. Trish hadn't picked up a cigarette in days. Daryl had begun to wonder if she'd kicked the habit, but here was proof to the contrary. Nothing wrong with the occasional smoke, but it wasn't the best vice to have in the world they now lived in. Maggie's thoughts must have mirrored his own, for he heard her comment, "She told me they're easier to find than Xanax."

"What's that?" he had to ask. It sounded like the name of a drug, but wasn't quite sure what it was used for.

"Anti-anxiety pills."

"For what? Panic attacks?"

"Good guess."

Damn woman. Making him give a shit. How did she manage to do that? There was no subtle way to watch her this time, so the stolen glances over his shoulder were surely noticed. At the very least, Maggie saw what he was doing and grinned after he turned his head away for the fourth time.

"You've slept next to her for the past three weeks, but you can't even manage to talk to her when you have the tiniest bit of privacy. That's fucked up."

"That's 'tween me and Trish." Daryl prickled, but only because Maggie was dead on in her accusation. It **was** fucked up. But for him, it wasn't as easy as walking up to her and hauling her off to bed. Not for lack of wanting to do exactly that, but because he knew that if he were to do it, he'd be completely lost in her. Trish was that elusive creature he had always dreamed about in the part of his mind that allowed for such fantasies. He just couldn't allow himself to have it. The cost of having that kind of bond with someone was too high a price to pay in a world where walkers could take it away from him.

* * *

><p>**lyric credit** "The Black Rainbow" by Coheed and Cambria<p>

* * *

><p>A huge "Thank You!" to all of my readers, but shoutouts go to heartmitosis, LadyLecter47 &amp; XkagedragonX for the reviews! I'm glad you've all been enjoying it as much as I've liked writing it.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: The story you are reading is a piece of fiction. I own none of the characters from either "The Walking Dead" television show or comics. Those lie within the realm of creative genius Robert Kirkman and his skilled team of artists. Mr. Kirkman, I salute you!**

_I'm cold and broken_

_It's over_

_I didn't want to see it come to this_

_I wonder_

_If I will ever see your face again_

_And I know_

_That I will find a way to shed the skin_

_It's simple_

_I know that I will suffer in the end_

_Fast I fade away_

_It's almost over_

_Hold on_

_Slow I suffocate_

_I'm cold and broken_

_Alone_

_It's hopeless_

_The end will come and wash it all away_

_Forsaken_

_I live for those I lost along the way_

_And I can't_

_Remember how it all began to break_

_You suffer_

_I live to fight and die another day_

* * *

><p>"Are you sure this will work?"<p>

"Fucking Christ, Shane. That's the fifth time you've asked in the past ten minutes."

Trish brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes as she threw the last of the combustibles onto the pile of fireworks and butane. _Thank goodness for teenage boys_, she thought. Rummaging through porn stashes to find the hidden firecrackers had paid off more than once. The light and noise they created in one location had been enough to drive off a significant amount of walkers to allow an alternate escape route on more than one occasion. But this distraction would have to be large enough to allow the entire convoy of survivors to get past the gate of the housing community and onto the highway. Trish understood Shane's apprehension, but in theory this shouldn't be any different than the other times she had done it.

More walkers had congregated around town in the two days since they had set up in the retirement commune. The plan was to create a diversion two blocks away so that they could get the caravan of vehicles out the front gate and onto the highway before the walkers could swarm. It was an early morning for all of them, having loaded and lined up the cars the evening before. All they had left was to light the fire and make a dash for the others before the walkers came nosing around. Just as soon as…

"There it is," Shane said, pointing in the direction of the brief flash of headlights. It was the signal that everyone was ready to go and the bonfire needed to be lit. Trish lit the rag on the maltov cocktail as they walked away from it, and Shane gave it a toss into the debris once they were at a safe distance. "Now MOVE!"

He didn't need to tell her twice. They ran as stealthily as they could through the street, pistols out and safety's off, relying on the pops and lights from the fire to cover their passing. But they couldn't stay quiet for long, for out of the first alley came a walker with half its throat missing. Shane dispatched it easily, but the sound was sure to draw attention. In the dim light of pre-dawn, she saw at least three more halfway between where they were at and their goal of the rear entrance to the duplexes. It was a small concession that their gunfire was still leading the mob away from the gate.

They were at a full sprint at half a block away, gaining momentum to climb the concrete wall ahead of them. They'd practiced twice the afternoon before with great success, but this time they had the undead to boost their motivation. Shane was up and over in the blink of an eye, but as Trish was halfway up her vault, she faltered and fell back to the ground.

That's when she saw the walker that had grabbed the hem of her pants. Without thinking, she kicked herself free, but it was nearly upon her. One more swift kick to its head gave her just enough time to aim and fire between the eyes. By the time she stood back up, Shane was leaning over the wall, reaching for her hands.

"Where'd that thing come from?" he asked once they were safe on the other side and jogging towards the convoy.

"Hell if I know."

"Well, it's done now, and your idea worked. Let's get the fuck out of here."

Trish would be riding point, but she saw Daryl give her a quick wink as she dashed by his position at rear. Each driver acknowledged her as she passed by the vehicles and a tingle of acceptance rushed through her for the first time since joining the group. She saw Glenn working the chain on the gate as she approached, nodding at him as soon as she was settled on the back of the bike. For a split second, it felt strange to not have Fish in her lap, but the pup was safe in the back of Rick's station wagon, snuggling with Carl. As soon as she turned the ignition, Glenn shoved open the gate and made jogged towards the RV.

Behind her, the other vehicles came to life. As soon as Trish heard the Triumph's roar, she maneuvered out into the street, heading towards the highway out of town that led to the interstate. Behind her, T-Dog was perched precariously out the window of Shane's Hyundai with a rifle, picking off any walkers in their way through the community. There were blessed few, less than a dozen in a two mile stretch, and Trish sighed with relief when they finally hit the open road.

The first two nights hadn't given her any sort of rest, and she had all but collapsed after dinner on the third. Somehow she had grown accustomed to having Daryl at her back as she slept, and the absence was overwhelming. Trish spent countless hours agonizing over why the rugged, temperamental outdoorsman fascinated her so much. Or maybe fascination wasn't quite the word to describe it.

They had scarcely had time to see each other outside of the day-to-day life of survival on the road. She was beginning to understand why he stayed on with this group. It was a family of sorts, much like the one she had formed growing up on the streets of Miami. And if she wasn't quite ingrained in it as tightly as everyone else, they certainly hadn't turned her away. Even the initial tension between herself and Andrea had begun to fade a bit once Blondie realized she wasn't a threat.

But something changed on that ride back to the caravan after finding the retirement community in town. Every night she had gone to bed feeling his hands at her waist and his breath on her neck. Every time Trish closed her eyes, she was haunted by dreams of staring into the blue depths of his eyes as he made love to her. Dreams of a world that didn't exist, because if it had, she would have never met Daryl in the first place.

Her control of the bike faltered for a split second, and as she felt a slight fishtail Trish noticed that she had driven through a puddle of relatively fresh blood. "Fuck." She really didn't want that shit all over the Honda. Slowing the bike and reaching for her pistol, she looked for the walker that was inevitably nearby and saw it lurching out of the trees.

T-Dog saw it at the same time, and within moments, the back of the creature's head was completely blown out from two shots in the face. Trish heard him laughing, and was glad that someone else had taken a certain grim satisfaction in the explosion of bone, blood and brain matter. But this was a reminder that the closer to the interstate they got, the higher the risk for more walkers. Shoving out the thoughts of Daryl Dixon, she settled in for another long and gruesome day on the road.

* * *

><p>They had been lucky. There were miraculously few undead on the interstate. Unfortunately, that luck didn't hold out for long. Five miles up the highway, a small herd of no less than twenty walkers hovered around a vehicle that reeked of death every time the wind shifted. Daryl knew that he and a couple others would be able to take them out, but the noise would be sure to draw more and they'd need to move quickly afterwards.<p>

"The four of us can go ahead of the rest of y'all and clear the way," Andrea said, pointing first at herself, then at Daryl, Shane and Trish. Rick looked apprehensive, but he seemed to know there was no other choice.

"Sounds solid," Shane added. "We should have it taken care of by the time y'all catch up."

With everything settled, the two motorcycles and the Tucson rolled up on the mob of walkers, stopping short of the truck they had swarmed by twenty feet. The cacophony of gunfire was overwhelming, and within moments they were moving forward to pick off the bystanders that had wandered away from the road. But when they approached the truck, Daryl caught something snap in Trish's expression out of the corner of his eye. A mask of fury washed over her face as she holstered the gun and picked up a baseball bat from the grip of one of the corpses that had been too badly gnawed on to reanimate.

"What the…" Andrea began, but Daryl turned her attention away from Trish.

"I got her covered."

Her first swing was hard enough to completely smash through a walker's skull, and before Daryl could take time to be impressed, he began aiming towards the dead that were heading her direction. There weren't many left, but that didn't stop Trish. When she spun around, looking for something else to hit but finding nothing, she went back to the first one and began bashing it into a bloody pulp. Tears streamed down her face, but she said nothing. By the time the rest of the caravan had joined them, Trish had worn herself out and begun to walk towards the pitiful creature she had taken the bat from.

Male. Female. Daryl couldn't tell. But when Trish bent over and gently unclasped the bracelet the corpse had been wearing, it finally clicked. This was someone she had known. Closer inspection showed that it had scars on the wrists similar to Trish's, and he guessed that whatever hardship she had gone through, this had been one of her companions.

Daryl had been so busy watching Trish that he didn't see Shane come up from behind to roughly lift her to her feet. Instinctively, she dropped the bat, clenched her fist and clocked him square in the jaw. He reeled for a moment, letting her go, but not before spitting out a gob of blood and glaring at her.

"What the fuck was that for, stupid bitch?" Andrea said, coming up to defend Shane, not realizing that if he had truly wanted to retaliate, he would have. Daryl stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning them towards the cars.

"She knew that person," he told them softly. When he looked back at Trish, she had picked the bat back up and was heading towards her bike. Pain and anger were her weapons now, and the City Girl he had teased for painting her toenails a week before seemed completely oblivious to the armor of blood and tears she was now covered in.

* * *

><p>**lyric credit** "Fade Away" by Breaking Benjamin<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

_Step by step_

_Heart to heart_

_Left, right left_

_We all fall down_

_Like toy soldiers_

_Bit by bit_

_Torn apart_

_We never win_

_But the battle wages on_

_For toy soldiers_

Trish didn't speak for the rest of the day. Memories she had suppressed came bubbling to the surface at the sight of LeAnn's mangled body. If it hadn't been for the bracelet…

She fiddled with it absently as she scanned the horizon from the roof of the roach motel they had settled into for the night. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry in its simplicity, but to her friend it had meant the world. A Christmas gift from her daughter. The little girl had picked out the charms herself, LeAnn had once mentioned, selecting her favorite marine animals from the aquarium she had worked at in Orlando. But now the menagerie of dolphins, otters, whales and sharks hung from Trish's wrist.

The sounds of footsteps crunching along the graveled rooftop gave Trish only a moment's pause. She didn't figure it was time for shift change, so whomever it was had come to talk. It didn't matter who. She wasn't in the mood for company so they wouldn't get any sort of response.

"I'm not good at apologies," she heard Andrea announce from a few feet away, "but Daryl said you knew that woman, so I'm sorry about yelling at you for hitting Shane."

_Daryl's smarter than you give him credit for_, Trish thought, but didn't say. It was uncanny, the way they could read each other. How he had been the **only** person in the group who had given her space once they were off the road for the night. But for now, he was just another checkmark on her list of complications.

"There's running water. It's not hot, but I could cover for you until he comes up for his shift." She was talking about Daryl. Was there any decent way to avoid having him run through her mind? "Nobody would blame you if you wanted to turn in a little early." It was probably just a polite way of telling her that she was a mess, but Trish decided to take it at face value. Reluctantly, she stood, and passed the binoculars to Andrea with a nod of acknowledgment.

Sleeping arrangements were pretty much the same as they had been, only instead of tents, they were all in hotel rooms. Daryl and T-Dog had gone to sleep hours ago, having decided that the three of them would rotate the night watch so nobody had to share beds. Trish silently hoped that they were passed out well enough to get an uninterrupted shower as she made her way down the ladder and towards their shared room.

She opened the door as quietly as she could. In the dim light, she could make out the silent lumps of her roommates, with Fish wiggling impatiently near Daryl's feet. Her heart melted at the sight of the little dog, and made a beeline for the pooch as soon as she finished locking up. When Trish picked her up, the warm ball of fur licked her face affectionately. She didn't know whose idea it was to tear Fish away from Carl for the night, but she silently thanked everyone.

There was a butane lantern in the bathroom next to a book of matches. The room lit up after the first strike, and Trish made short work of getting out the towels and soaps she would need before running back to the main room to rummage in her pack for cleaner clothes. Fish was curled back up on the bed next to Daryl, and she wondered briefly what he would think if he saw the "prissy little mutt" sharing his personal space.

As she closed and locked the bathroom door, Trish finally took a good look at the state of her appearance. Covered head to foot in blood and dust. Tear stains carved salty tracks down her cheeks. Her jacket was beyond saving. She peeled it off and watched it fall to the floor. Moments later, the rest of her clothes followed.

_Fuck, me_, she thought, taking a good hard look at her body. _I'm just as scrawny as the rest of them._ She placed her hands first at her protruding ribs, along her collarbone, on her hips, across her belly. A twinge of pain as she remembered the life that Lori was carrying. Finally, she removed the bracelets at her wrist and set them on the counter before moving to the shower and stepping under the water.

As expected, it was near freezing, so Trish made short work of washing as thoroughly as possible. The hotel's white washcloth was mottled brown and black by the time she was done with it, but the water served to cleanse more than just her body. While she rinsed her hair, Trish shed the last piece of the City Girl she had tried to cling to for so long.

Everyone from her past was gone. Friends. Family. She could accept that now. Her life…her future…now rested with this bedraggled group of survivors. And Trish would help protect them with her last ounce of energy if it ever came to it.

* * *

><p>Daryl woke to the triple tap on his shoulder that marked time for his shift on watch. The faint scent of soap reached him before he cracked open his eyes to see Trish silhouetted by the lantern on the table. He guessed it to be the same outfit she had worn that first morning after they met. She probably didn't realize it, but the white shirt didn't stand a chance at hiding her figure from the light behind her. Their eyes met briefly, but she looked away as soon as it was clear that Daryl was awake and he couldn't read her expression.<p>

Trish moved away from him to sit at the foot of the bed, but he had to pass by to get to the bathroom. They were both closer to the lantern, and he stopped in front of her. Something had changed in Trish when they found her friend on the road. An eerie, icy calm had been her constant companion all day, but now she was…vulnerable.

It took him a moment to realize that she had taken off the bracelets. He knew she wore them to cover the scars, but had never seen her without them since having met her. Without thinking, he reached for her arm to get a better look. His initial thought had been rope bindings, but now Daryl knew better. The lines were too clean. Too straight. Whomever had done this to her used handcuffs.

She didn't flinch at his touch, which he half expected. But that haunted look on Trish's face, etched with grief and anger, it was still there, hiding behind the curtain of hair. He dared to take his other hand and tuck it back behind her ear, tilting her face up to look at him. He knew she didn't want to talk about it yet. She knew he wouldn't push it. That was their understanding, spoken without words, in that single stolen moment.

It was gone as swiftly as it had come upon them. Daryl retreated to the bathroom to take a leak and Trish moved up the bed to crawl under the covers. By the time he had pissed, gotten his boots and jacket on and grabbed his gear, she had fallen into the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

><p>Sunlight streaming through the window woke Trish from a dreamless sleep. The first thing she noticed was that nobody was in the other bed. The second thing she noticed was Carol standing in the doorway.<p>

"We tried to let you sleep as long as we could," the older woman said softly, moving into the room. "Is there anything you need before we leave? It doesn't look like there's much packing to do, but Daryl didn't know what you wanted to do with the stuff in the bathroom."

"Just the bracelet," Trish managed to croak out as she sat up and stretched. Her shoes had been moved next to the bed. In fact, the only things left in the room were hers. Daryl and T-Dog had already cleared their belongings out. Carol had silently slipped into the bathroom while Trish tied her sneakers, and when the bracelet dropped into her hand, she noticed something else. It was wet. And cold. Carol had washed the blood from it without her having to ask. "Thank you," she whispered.

Trish had heard about what happened to Sophia, Carol's daughter. How the girl had gotten lost, only to turn up in a barn full of walkers. There was no way that Trish could even begin to compare her losses to Carol's. But there was a nagging voice in the back of her wall that told her this was an opportunity she couldn't pass. Carol was reaching out to her. The least Trish could do was reach back.

"The first walker I killed was my dad," she heard herself say, somewhat detached from the part of her that still didn't want to get close to anyone. Carol paused at the sound of her voice, then took a seat next to her. "It was martial law in Miami after the outbreak hit there. I got stuck downtown for three weeks until my friends and I decided to make a run for it. Papa had been…attacked…and locked himself in the shop. When I went back to get my bike…"

It all seemed like a lifetime ago. Perhaps, in a way, it was. The girl who had bawled her eyes out for two hours on the road out of Miami wasn't who she was now. Trish realized that with a sigh as Carol reached over and pulled her into an awkward embrace. Reluctantly, she returned it, but there was little comfort. Only shared grief.

But it was enough.

* * *

><p>**lyric credit** "Toy Soldiers" by Martika<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

_There's a place where you can light the fire and watch it burn_

_Lay it down and lose it all_

_It's taken me so far beyond the point of no return_

_Gave all that I had when hope was gone_

_(Hope was gone)_

_Is this real or is it just another crazy dream_

_That someday soon will fade away_

_Feels just like I'm underwater and can barely breathe_

_Dying in the bed that I have made_

_I don't want to drown in you_

_I'm sinking and I'm torn in two_

_So when you see me come up for air_

_Don't try to hold me down_

_Just save me now_

_Don't let me drown in you_

Rain pounded on the roof of the RV as Daryl waited with the others for Trish and Glenn to return. They were parked on the road near the edge of the Chattahoochee National Forest, waiting on the pair to return from looking into an artist's colony they had seen a sign for. Dale had told them it would be secluded, a place where painters and writers had been able to work in an atmosphere of peace and relative solitude. It sounded more like a day camp for pussies to Daryl.

He shot a quick look at Carol. Yup. She was still mad at him. As if somehow he had known that she and Trish were having a bonding moment that he blundered into three mornings earlier. Oh, **that** she forgave him for. It was the fact that he had stood there, listening to Trish talk about her father, while the women were completely oblivious that was the root of Carol's cold shoulder. Privacy was a precious commodity, and he had pretty much violated what little they'd had that morning.

If Trish knew he had been there the whole time, she never let on. They had fallen back into their familiar routine of conflicting shifts and schedules, so the subject had never come up. But she wasn't outright upset with him like Carol was, so either she didn't know or didn't care that he had been eavesdropping.

"It's been almost two hours," Maggie said with a twinge of worry in her voice.

"They've got three before Rick goes to check on them," Lori said reassuringly.

Two hours was about how long it took to inspect and clear an establishment. Honestly, Daryl was more worried about the rain. It had started pouring thirty minutes earlier, and he knew that even if he had to ride in it one way, Trish would have double that time getting back to the convoy. If there had been walkers, they would've either been dealt with, or she would've hightailed it back to the highway. Fortunately, it wasn't much longer before they had an answer. Glenn stepped into the RV, soaking wet and grinning from ear-to-ear.

"It's safe," he announced, taking the cap from his head and wringing it out in the sink.

"And?" prompted Maggie, who had heard the same trill of excitement in his voice that Daryl had.

"And we found friends. Some of the Vatos made it out of Atlanta."

"Was that the group operating out of the nursing home?" Carol ventured to guess. Glenn pursed his lips, obviously not wanting to reveal everything he knew quite yet, but he nodded at the question.

"They didn't all make it, and Felipe wants to wait until they can talk to all of us. But we need to get back right away. Trish already has the sniffles from driving in the rain."

Daryl didn't wait to hear if anyone else bothered to comment. He left the RV without a word to anyone, letting the rain pelt him when he stepped outside. At the head of the caravan, Trish and Shane had already pulled down the stretch of road that led to the artist's colony. Nobody was going to waste any time in the weather, and he heard the motors turn on Rick and Dale's vehicles seconds before he flipped the key on the Triumph.

Daryl knew the kind of hell it was operating a motorcycle in a downpour. Not ideal riding conditions by any stretch of the imagination. The sooner they got moving, the sooner he and Trish would be dry. He prayed those sniffles Glenn mentioned were the only problem she would have to deal with during their stop, but praying had never done him any good before. Maybe this time something would finally come of it.

* * *

><p>Wool stank when it was wet. That was Trish's most coherent thought as she rode through the rain, leading the way towards the safe haven that the Vatos had created out of the abandoned artist commune. The sweater she had picked up earlier in the week was soaked. Well, <strong>everything<strong> was soaked, but the very thing she had put on to keep her warm that morning was now the object of her scorn.

She could feel the chill settling into her bones as the first building came into sight. Someone had opened the bay door on the pottery studio, which was now being used to house vehicles. There was just enough room left for the Honda, and Daryl's Triumph, but the rest of their convoy would have to park outside. Just as well. They didn't have to ride in this crappy weather.

With barely enough energy to peel herself off the back of the bike, she practically fell into a man named Jorge, who steadied her just as she heard Daryl come in behind them. Her head was fuzzy, but she could hear him swearing after he killed the engine. "I'll get her, man. Need your help with our stuff."

"Ain't your mule, Puto," Jorge replied, and Trish got the vague sense that there was some sort of history between Daryl and their hosts that Glenn hadn't mentioned.

"And she ain't your problem." Daryl was at her side now, tucking himself under her arm and gripping her around the waist. Trish couldn't manage to keep her hand on his shoulder, and leaned into him as the room started spinning. Even without the rain, she was still frozen, and being inside wasn't making a difference in getting warmed up.

After a few tense seconds, Jorge backed away and Daryl's grip tightened. Through clouded vision, she could make out a door at the rear of the studio that led back outside. They would have to pass through that wet shit again to get to their dorm.

One foot in front of the other. Step by grueling step. Trish was completely numb by the time they were within ten feet from their goal, and she felt her legs give out. Daryl barely caught her, and she remembered that he had been out in the weather, too. But he scooped Trish up without a sound, determined to get indoors where Felipe was waiting for them.

"Bring her upstairs," the Vato told them, and she assumed he was leading the way, for the two men continued talking as Trish closed her eyes. "Your girl?" Daryl tensed at the question.

"No."

"Fair enough. How close are you?"

"Close enough." The climbing had stopped. Trish spared a look around and saw a blurry, but sparse room with half a dozen twin-sized beds.

"Good. Strip her." This time, he nearly dropped her. Correcting his slip, Daryl decided to set her down in a chair that was next to the bed. "You can't shoot me in the ass for doing my job. She's got hypothermia. Get her out of the wet shit."

Her gloves, shoes and socks came off with relative ease, but shaky hands lifted the heavy, stinking sweater over her head and it landed on the floor with a wet plop. The trembling was worse when Daryl removed her tee-shirt. He let out a curse as Felipe whistled from behind him. "Maquina indeed. Nice ink. Come on, man. Pants." It seemed to take forever as he fumbled with the button and zipper of her jeans, but Daryl couldn't get any farther. He leaned in, burying his face in her neck and reaching a hand around to the small of her back.

"Get 'em," he growled at Felipe, lifting her up until her hips were off the chair and their torsos were flattened against each other. Trish barely registered the wet jeans sliding down her legs with Daryl's warm breath on her shoulder. A moment later it was gone. He had moved her to the bed.

"Your turn. And you need to…"

"I know what I need to do. Shared body heat. Fuck you. Go away." If she hadn't been so drained, Trish would've laughed. Not only at Daryl's choice of words, but because this was nothing like how she had imagined getting him into bed with her. But a minute later, he was there, stripped to his boxers and pulling her against him. One hand cradled her head as she tucked it under his chin. The laugh that had threatened a moment earlier surfaced as a shallow cough and the arm beneath her wrapped itself around her waist.

"Fuck you, too, God," she heard him whisper as the darkness of sleep finally settled around her. "You answered the wrong prayer."

* * *

><p>Night had fallen while Daryl slept. The dim glow of candles had replaced the hazy sunlight that had come in through the windows near the ceiling. A quick glance showed him that they had been covered, even though he knew in the back of his mind that the Vatos wouldn't have been able to survive long in this location if they hadn't been doing that all along.<p>

A quick scan through the rest of the room showed him what he hadn't noticed in the rush to get Trish safely to bed that afternoon. They had been placed in the rear, nearest the bathrooms, and he felt more secure knowing there was a wall at his back. There was a desk and chair next to the bed on one side, and dorm-like closets on the other. A curtain roughly five feet from the foot of the bed had been let down to afford some privacy, but the soft hum of voices reminded Daryl that they weren't completely alone. He had initially seen six sleeping areas, and guessed that the others were set up similarly to the one he currently occupied with Trish.

She hadn't budged an inch, not even after Daryl had lifted his head to look around their corner of the loft. It was her cough that had woken him, not bad enough to be concerned with yet, but if they didn't stick around to let her rest a few days, it would be worse later on. He looked down at Trish, still wrapped comfortably in his arms, and a rush of relief swept through him to see that her color had returned and there were no further signs of hypothermia.

It was a painstakingly slow process to untangle himself from her, but Daryl knew he couldn't stay. He was fully awake, and the need to be productive overwhelmed the desire to lie around in bed. There was a second pillow that had fallen on the floor unused, and he tucked it against her as he slipped out from under the covers. Trish curled around it, as if somehow she had sensed the change even in her sleep.

A check in the closet showed that someone had brought dry supplies from the RV, but all of their wet clothes had been taken away. His crossbow had been placed on the desk next to the guns and knives he had taken off of himself and Trish in their haste to get undressed. Daryl wondered briefly if she had ever known how to treat the weapons after being exposed to the rain, and made a silent promise to show her once she was awake.

He made short work of dressing before stepping out from behind the curtain. Carol was in the sleeping area next to his, taking clothes from her bag and hanging them in the closet. She gave Daryl a weak smile when she saw him, so he ambled towards her since the silent treatment seemed to have finally ended.

"We left the bed across the way empty in case you wanted to move," she said quietly.

"Probably best for her right now if I did," he agreed. "She's gettin' sick. Needs her rest."

"I heard her coughing," replied Carol with a nod. The look in her eyes told him she had noticed the _right now_ part of his statement, but said nothing.

"Shower's free," said a familiar voice from behind them, and Daryl turned to face someone he had never expected to see alive again. Miguel's expression gave away his own surprise, but he masked it quickly and held out a hand in greeting. Daryl took it, glad for a relatively warm welcome, even if it was from the kid whose feet he had once threatened to cut off.

"Had one already," he said.

"So I heard. How's la Maquina?" Daryl tried not to bristle at the use of Trish's street-name as he withdrew from the handshake. Felipe had used it, too. How had they heard of her all the way up here?

"Sleepin'."

There was a rustle of movement down in one of the sleeping areas near the stairs, which drew Miguel's attention. "Oye, Antonio, el novio de la máquina está despierto." Not that Daryl had understood much of it, but this seemed to be someone the young man wanted him to meet. "We have to go to him." A quick glance at Carol's nod told Daryl that it would be all right. Not anyone she felt threatened by. He followed Miguel's lead to where he had seen the curtain ripple, not quite sure what to expect.

Prepared for anything, he was still surprised. The scrap of a boy that stood before him didn't seem like much at first glance, but the way he was scrutinizing Daryl indicated that he had been forced to grow up long before the apocalypse. He couldn't have been more than fifteen, younger even than Miguel. Thin as a whip and tough as nails, but there was something in the boy's eyes that spoke of something dark in his recent history.

"How long?" the boy asked. The question confused Daryl, but he sensed an undercurrent of brotherly protection in it.

"How long what?"

"Since you've been sleeping with mi hermana?" Yup. Brotherly concern. Daryl understood that one.

"When did we get here," he asked Miguel quietly, with as straight a face as he could muster.

"About five hours ago," came the reply.

"Well, according to Miguel, about five hours." He didn't feel like mentioning the four weeks of shared sleeping quarters on the road. Daryl didn't think that quite counted given the context of the boy's question. _Antonio_, he told himself. _His name is Antonio_. But the darkness still hadn't lifted from the kid's expression.

"You love her?"

Caught off guard, Daryl reacted without thinking. "What the hell kinda' question is that? We ain't damn kids. Ain't nothin' been goin' on, and ain't nobody's business but me and hers anyhow." He was in Antonio's face now, temper rising and fists clenching. But something flickered across the boy's face that he recognized, and he backed off. Antonio narrowed his eyes and the corner of his mouth turned up in a grin.

"That sound like a 'yes' to you, Miguel?"

"Sure did."

Daryl felt like a caged animal. Trapped between two adolescent boys hell-bent on making him all touchy-feely about a woman he barely knew. Throwing his hands up, he stalked out of the makeshift bedroom and made a beeline for Trish's. Carol looked as if she had wanted to say something, but he was moving too fast and Daryl knew she wouldn't want to wake Trish by causing a scene. After pulling an "Army" hoodie out of the closet and grabbing his crossbow, he paused just long enough to glance at the sleeping woman.

Damn that woman. He didn't know **how** to feel about her. Daryl just knew that he wanted her safe. Wanted her to open up to him like she had to Carol. Wanted her next to him every night. God damn that woman for making him want her. As he left her behind and headed towards the stairs, he spared a final glance for the boys. God damn **them** for giving him a word to describe it all.

Because god damn Daryl Dixon was **not** going to admit that he was falling in love.

* * *

><p>**lyric credit** "Drown in You" by Daughtry<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

_The dawn is breaking_

_A light shining through_

_You're barely waking_

_And I'm tangled up in you_

_Yeah_

_I'm open your closed_

_Where I follow you'll go_

_I worry I won't see your face_

_Light up again_

_Even the best fall down sometimes_

_Even the wrong words seem to rhyme_

_Out of the doubt that fills my mind_

_I somehow find_

_You and I collide_

Trish drifted back into consciousness just as Daryl was leaving. She vaguely remembered hearing someone shuffle around their corner of the room, but she didn't fully wake until she noticed that she was curled around a pillow instead of a warm body. _How long did you really expect him to stay_, she asked herself. Sure, they had their little moments now and then, but he'd never openly expressed any interest beyond that first night. Every time the opportunity had presented itself, nothing happened.

Not that she had done any pushing of her own. Trish had been trying so hard to not let anyone get close to her, and that included Daryl. But he had been there, keeping her out of the hands of strangers, and crawling into bed with her when he very well could've left her buried in blankets to fight off the cold on her own. That had to count for something, even if he had eventually left.

She let out a soft curse as she sat up and choked on a cough. With one hand at her temple and one hand on the bed to support her weight, Trish closed her eyes as she waited for her lungs to settle and the room to stop spinning. Her stomach was painfully empty, something she would need to remedy as soon as possible. But first, clothes.

The closet had been left open and she could make out a pile of dry clothes. It wasn't difficult to sort out what was hers and what was Daryl's…_wait, what's __**his**__ stuff doing here_...and Trish made short work of pulling on the khakis and hoodie. Warm socks that tickled her feet and a pair of clunky black boots that were a pain in the ass to lace and tie. She blessed whoever had dropped a hairbrush and a ponytail holder into the bag as she pulled her curls into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Not an outfit anyone would've expected to find her in, for sure, but it was warm and comfortable.

"Are you decent?" she heard Carol say from nearby. The woman's timing was almost uncanny.

"Yeah." She noticed her side-arm and knife on the desk and went to pick up the latter.

"Ok. I heard you rustling around over there. Everyone else has gone to the main hall for supper. We didn't figure you'd be up for a while, but I didn't want to leave you alone."

"Thanks," Trish replied, stepping out from behind the curtain while she clipped the knife sheath to the waistband of her pants. "Supper sounds good." Her stomach growled as a point of emphasis, which drew a smile from both women.

The main hall was attached to the makeshift garage, if memory from her initial visit with Glenn served correctly, and when they got outside, she was thankful that the rain had finally stopped. There was just enough moonlight to see their way without having to resort to a flashlight, but Trish imagined this wasn't such an easy task on darker nights. There was a sentry on the roof, and he nodded in acknowledgement as she and Carol made their way up the steps to join the rest of those who had gathered.

Trish noticed him immediately. Off by himself, sulking over a plate, but his eyes rested on her as soon as she walked in the door. He had a haunted look in his eyes, as if his thoughts were anywhere but in the dining hall. There was a brief flash of warmth as Daryl lifted a finger and pointed across the room, but shut down again as soon as he knew she had gotten the message. But when she turned to see what he had been pointing at, Trish's heart skipped.

At first glance, she thought she was hallucinating. There was no way. Not after having found LeAnn. But that Antonio had not only made it out of Jacksonville, but was now **here**? The boy she had practically helped raise, all the way from Miami. Now standing in the midst of a circle of Vatos from Atlanta.

Her feet knew to move forward even if her mind was still in shock. Trish picked her way through the tables, ignoring the looks that everyone was giving her as all conversations stopped. Like Daryl, he had known the moment she came in, and had been closing distance from the other side. She crumbled into his arms, choking on her sobs, which sent her into a fit of coughing.

"Hermana, you should be in bed," he told her, acting as if it hadn't been two months since they had last seen each other. Antonio led her back to his table, where someone promptly shoved a bowl of broth and a hunk of hard bread in front of her. Looking up, it was Jorge, the tall Vato with the bandanna and shoulder length hair that had tried to help her when they first arrived.

"She needs to eat. Too skinny."

"More cushion for the pushin'," someone nearby teased, and Antonio glared up at the speaker as Jorge blushed.

"La Maquina took me in off the streets, gave me a job, found me a home. You talk your shit again, I'll let her cut your tongue out herself when she's feeling better." **That.** That was her Antonio. Always looking out for her. Sometimes she wondered who had saved who when she found him wandering downtown with his crack head mother all those years ago.

Everything had been happening so fast. Finding LeAnn's nearly-unrecognizable remains amidst a crowd of walkers. Finding Antonio, alive, amongst a group of friendly strangers. Collapsing into bed with Daryl. As soon as it popped into her head, Trish's gaze drifted back towards him, only to meet that same confused, thoughtful stare he had been wearing when she came in.

"What are you thinking?" Antonio asked quietly, leaning over so they could have a semi-private conversation. She tore her eyes away from Daryl to look at the boy who had become like a brother to her. It wasn't a secret that she had been curled up safe and warm in a bed with the grouchy redneck, but Trish knew that Antonio wasn't about to let her make any of the same mistakes she had back in Miami.

"I'm trying not to," she replied, finally picking up her bread and dipping it in the broth.

"How's that working out for you?"

"Not so well." She stole another quick glance at Daryl and flushed as she caught him watching her again. _What the hell? This isn't high school._

"He's a tough one. You need to let him make the moves. Work it out at his pace. Just be there to catch him when he falls, Hermana."

She knew what Anthony was talking about, but couldn't quite figure out how the young man had been able to understand the very thing she had been struggling with less than an hour before. Maybe it was just a guy thing. As she finally tucked into her meal, tuning out the voices around her, Trish thought, _but will he be there to catch __**me**__?_

* * *

><p>Daryl could scarcely take his eyes from her after she had arrived in the dining hall. He witnessed it all. The tearful reunion with Antonio. The way she seemed to be perfectly comfortable surrounded by the Vatos. She understood them. They joked with her, even if he couldn't hear what was said, and Antonio was an overwhelming presence beside her in spite of his young age.<p>

He had been so focused on Trish that he hadn't heard a damn word about what had happened to the gang in Atlanta, or how they had come by the colony they now occupied. She had glanced his way a few times, but what did it mean? Seeing her with the others, how they had warmed up to her almost immediately. **That** was the world she fit into. Not his ragtag group of mismatched survivors. It was like a knife in the gut as he realized how different they really were.

Daryl couldn't stand it anymore. Being in that room with everyone around him talking and chumming it up while he sat alone. He didn't need any of these people. They could all stay here. Have a relatively comfortable life. He could get out, go look for Merle, get back on the road on his own. Hell, Trish had done it…

It was the last thought that decided him. Looking down at his empty bowl, Daryl shoved it aside and got up from his seat. He had to get away from her before he got in over his head. He slipped silently through the main hall and out the door. Across the courtyard, into the dorm. But when he had finally reached the top of the stairs, he heard the squeak of the door in the common room followed by a hacking cough.

"Fuckin' woman," he heard himself say as he paused. Trish cursed, coughed again, followed up by the sound of her feet falling softly on the steps. "That was about stupid," Daryl told her as she reached the last stair and came into sight. "Probably just earned yourself another day in bed for that."

"I'll be fine soon enough," she replied, looking up at him coolly. He hadn't expected that reaction. But if it was a fight she was looking for, Daryl's blood was up and he was tired of holding back. As much as he didn't want to do it, he needed to push her away for her own good.

"We ain't **got **'soon enough.' Need to be back on the road and your dumb ass is just making yourself worse by running over here. And what for? To ask me to come back and be a part of something I'll never fit into? This ain't no place for people like me. It's for people like you. And Antonio. And the Vatos."

"Why does it always have to be 'us' and 'them?'" she spat back. "This isn't that world anymore. They're not **my** people any more than the others are **your** people. There's the good, the dead and the ugly. No in-betweens."

"So you sayin' we should all stay, **Maquina**?" Her street name was like poison to him, and Daryl cringed at his own use of it. "Or did your **familia** tell you to ask the redneck puto to leave?"

"I came to find out why the fuck you've been staring at me all damn night."

Something in Daryl snapped at her words. Talking wasn't working. Pushing her away wasn't doing any good, either. Damn that woman to a million hells. Fighting with Trish just made him want her more, and in the blink of an eye, he was pressing her against the wall. One hand gripped her by the hip, the other curled around the back of her neck as he crushed his lips to hers.

He couldn't think. He was tired of thinking. Daryl had known kissing Trish was going to be the turning point, but in that moment he just didn't give a shit anymore. He poured all of his frustration into her, and Trish matched it, sliding her hands up to his shoulders to bring him closer. But when he pulled back for a gulp of air and heard the catch in her throat as another cough began to surface, Daryl stopped and his head cleared. He waited for it to pass as she buried her face into her arms and leaned against him. When the spasms passed and her body stopped trembling, he crouched to pick her off the floor.

"Come on, City Girl," he murmured in her ear as he carried her down the hallway. "Let's get you to bed. Need you in shape to ride."

* * *

><p>**lyric credit** "Collide" by Howie Day<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

_Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?_

_Close your eyes and trust it, just trust it_

_Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air_

_Have you ever looked fear in the face and said_

_I just don't care_

_It's only half past the point of no return_

_The tip of the iceburg_

_The sun before the burn_

_The thunder before the lighting_

_And the breath before the phrase_

_Have you ever felt this way?_

* * *

><p>"Go fish."<p>

Trish drew from the top of the deck and shook her head. Eight cards, and none of them matched. This kid was beating the pants off her at cards. With a grin, she wondered if Lori would let her teach Carl how to play poker.

Everyone had been taking turns keeping her company after Daryl and Felipe had ordered her to stay in bed for the day. It hadn't been as difficult a task as she first thought, for she was exhausted enough to have slept through most of it. But during her more lucid moments, someone was always on hand to make sure she couldn't creep out of the dormitory.

Daryl hadn't stayed with her after putting her to bed a second time, but he had been the first to sit with her once she had gotten up that morning. She had just finished inhaling a bowl of oatmeal when he slipped through the curtain with cleaning kits for their weapons. It was a skill Trish had never bothered to learn, and he was uncharacteristically patient with her as they went through the process with first their knives, and then the guns. The previous night's kiss still hung in the air around them, but the tension that had built up to it was gone, and they had worked in a comfortable silence.

"Do you have any Kings?"

"Of course," Trish replied with a mock sigh and a genuine smile as she passed Carl the card from her hand. He was down to his last card, and there were none left in the draw pile. With a glance down at his pairs, she had to strategize. If Trish asked for what she was certain he had in his hand, he'd win. If she asked for something else, she was out of matching pairs and he would still win in the next round. Resigned, she bit the bullet and asked, "Is that a seven?"

Carl handed it over, a wicked grin spreading across his freckled face. She was glad to see it. He had been hardened by the group's ordeal at the Greene farm before she had met them, and was glad that Carl still had a touch of innocence. Lori hovered near the curtain where it had been tied back after Trish woke from her afternoon nap, and the woman's face melted to see her son's smile.

"Time to wash up for dinner, Carl," Lori said as the boy bounced out of his seat for a victory dance. He didn't even scowl as he passed his mother, who ruffled his hair when he rushed by. But she didn't follow, and Trish cleared away the cards so Lori could have a seat next to her on the bed.

"How's the munchkin?" she asked, pointing at the belly Lori was rubbing.

"Busy, which is both a blessing and a curse."

"You could've sent someone else up."

"I know," Lori said with an exhausted sigh. "But I wanted to see if you or Carol could ask Daryl something for me. Well, for Miguel, specifically." Trish raised her eyebrow quizzically, but said nothing, prompting her companion to continue. "A few weeks ago, he raided a sporting goods store and brought back a couple of crossbows. He's managed to figure out the basics, but, well…we thought it might help to have someone familiar with them…"

Trish chuckled, which miraculously didn't send her into a fit of coughing. "You want Daryl to show him how to use it?"

"How to hunt with it. I know we'll still be leaving soon, but if they can put fresh meat on the table…"

"I get it," she replied with a nod. "No guarantees, but I'll try."

"It's all we can ask for. Thanks." Lori reached out and squeezed her hands in gratitude. "We'll have dinner up for you here in a bit."

Trish tried to lay back down as she was left alone again. She debated closing the curtain, but if someone came in with her next meal, she wanted a way to let them know that it was ok to get her up. As an afterthought, she took the pen and notepad that she had found stashed in the desk, scribbled a note, and left it out just in case.

It was a good thing she had, for as soon as Trish's head hit the pillow, she was fast asleep again.

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><p>Daryl must've been stopped a half dozen times between the kitchen and the dorm. Rick wanted to ask about their destination, Dale thought he and Trish should ditch the bikes because of the weather, Antonio <strong>finally<strong> getting the equipment he had asked for. Not to mention the side-long glances Maggie and Glenn kept throwing him. Good god, did they have an audience last night he hadn't known about? By the time Carol stopped him to ask some ridiculous question about taking Miguel hunting with him in the morning, Daryl had reached his limit.

Dusk was settled over the area and more clouds threatening rain had begun to hover, but there was a stillness in the air that calmed him as soon as he stepped outside. The smell of wet earth and the sound of the night creatures stirring out of their homes soothed him. It was why he had always felt more at home in the woods than he had indoors. It beckoned Daryl. Begged him to enjoy the peace and solitude he had once known.

Daryl tried to shake it off as he crossed the courtyard to the dorm. As far as he could tell, Trish was up there alone since everyone else seemed to be collecting in the dining hall. He needed to get up to her before boredom set in and she got out of bed again. She'd had a touch of fever when he put her back in bed the night before, and a good night's rest had broken it by morning, but he didn't want to chance a relapse. He needed her at 100% when they were back on the road.

And she **would** be going with them, of that Daryl was certain. Her words from the night before had been with him all day. _"I'm not staying," she had said as he was walking out of her room to find his own bed. "Everything is too uncertain still. If you settle in and get comfortable, you lose your edge and become walker bait. Right now it's time to move. I made my choice before we ever got here. My place is with you and the meal on wheels." He had nodded, but slipped past the curtain without further reply._

He stood there now, watching her sleep, debating if he should wake her or not. As he set down the covered dishes to light the candle on the desk, Daryl noticed a hastily-scrawled note on the desk. "Will wake for food." _Smartass_, he thought. Once the light was burning, he set down the bag Antonio had given him and reached out to give Trish a gentle shake. She shifted slightly and her eyes cracked open as she took a deep breath. The smell of dinner brought her fully awake.

They ate in relative silence similar to how they had worked at cleaning their weapons earlier that morning. They weren't at a point yet where something needed to be said. All of the anger, the frustration, the uncertainty had come to a head the night before. Oh, Daryl was certain it would start boiling up again at some point, but he had never been one to expect the easy road to be laid out for him. But at least, for now, the road they were on was paved, and Daryl wanted to do something for Trish while he still had the opportunity. All he had to do was wait for nature to run its course…

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><p>Trish nearly gutted herself on the desk as she returned to her sleeping area from the bathroom. What the hell was Daryl doing, rearranging everything? When she turned to move around it to the other side of the bed, something soft pelted her in the face. As Trish stooped to pick the pillow off the floor, she saw his boots striding in the direction from the room he had occupied the night before.<p>

"You piss too fast."

"Um…sorry?" She stood and threw the pillow back at him, but he caught it before it could catch him in the face. Without breaking his stride, Daryl took it and the one he had been carrying to the bed, propping them up with hers against the headboard.

"Wanted to surprise you."

Curious, Trish took a good look around the room. He had made up the bed and moved the desk nearer the curtain. Somehow, somewhere, he had procured a laptop and a DVD, and that's when it fell into place.

"Dinner **and** a movie?"

"You didn't get all mushy on me this morning like I expected. Figured I owed you something for that."

"Mushy's not exactly my thing."

"Figured that, too. Now get over there and make that contraption work." She grinned when Daryl pointed at the laptop.

"Hillbilly," Trish teased as she climbed over the bed to the desk. Within moments the login screen was ready and she heaved a sigh that it wasn't password protected. "City Girl," he mumbled under his breath. When she peeked over her shoulder at him, Daryl had kicked off his boots and was sitting up in bed with the pillows behind him. Once she had gotten the movie started up, Trish joined him.

"Shit. Almost forgot," he said, leaning over her across the bed to get something from the bag on the floor. Daryl was squishing her a tiny bit, and her breath came out in a bone-jarring cough.

"Oh, fuck this," she choked out between each spasm. Trish had gone most of the afternoon without much sign of the illness returning, but this was her reminder that she wasn't quite out of the woods yet. Tears were in her eyes by the time Daryl had gotten her water bottle off the desk, but at least her lungs had started cooperating again. She sipped at her drink while he watched, wracked with concern, and fidgeting with a package of... "Oh my god. Red Vines."

His face was wiped clean of worry at her reaction to the candy. It was her favorite. How had he known? Trish looked from the bag back to Daryl, the question clearly etched in her expression.

"Antonio helped me get all this together," he mentioned, sliding back into place next to her and opening the package. "Found a library while I was snoopin' around and he caught me while I was lookin' at the movies. Said he'd set us up. Saw those when I got the computer out."

Trish wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, but settled for leaning into Daryl and stealing a candy as he wrapped his arm around her waist. Here they were, in the midst of the apocalypse, munching on Red Vines and watching Last of the Dogmen. Everyone else who had paired up just got down to business. Shane and Andrea. Glenn and Maggie.

But Daryl and Trish? Nope, they were on a **date**. And it was that tiny touch of how things used to be that gave them comfort in this crazy new world.

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><p>**lyric credit** "Glitter in the Air" by P!nk<p>

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><p>Shoutout to everyone who's been leaving comments these past 5 chapters: LadyLecter47, Alina Maxwell, kim-de-lee, BeingLolaStar, &amp; janeg! It might be a couple weeks until the next installment (super busy at school) but I promise this story is NOT done yet.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to Kirkman & Co. I just play with their toys.**

_If travel is searching_

_And home what's been found_

_I'm not stopping._

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><p>Daryl was impressed. Not only did Miguel make a clean kill on the young buck they had been tracking, but he hadn't tossed up his lunch when they'd had to gut it. The boy was a fast learner, and Daryl was confident that once his group left, there would be better meals on the table.<p>

He hadn't wanted to bring Miguel. Not at first. He had spent the previous day on his own, searching out game trails, setting traps and getting a lay of the land their hosts had been living on for the past two months. But between Carol and Trish's gentle prods, he caved and took the kid with him on his second outing. The mouthy brat he had encountered in Atlanta disappeared once they were out of sight of the main compound. Miguel would never be a true outdoorsman, but he had the makings of a good provider for the Vatos.

By the time the two had field-dressed the deer, the sun was threatening to set and it was an hour-long hike back to the main hall. Scavengers were already starting to gather, and he was anxious to get back. "Need to set extra people on watch tonight," Daryl mentioned casually as they crept away from the kill site. "Fresh blood on us might draw walkers."

"Jorge is in charge of security. I'll let him know." Daryl huffed. Jorge had been sniffing around Trish like a pup with his first bitch, and it irritated Daryl to no end. Miguel noticed his reaction and smiled. "Antonio's family was from Atlanta before his mom took off for Miami ten years ago. After la Maquina found him, she wanted him to keep in touch with family here, and Jorge was pretty much all that was left by that time. Cousins, I think. They emailed now and then. We'd get stories about her. That's how we know who she is."

Daryl didn't reply. Family ties, he could understand. Trish had taken care of one of their own, and that had earned their respect. But it still didn't explain…

"You don't need to worry about Jorge," Miguel continued. "She's not the girl he thought she was."

"Meaning what?"

"Antonio painted this picture in his letters that made her out to be a superhero. To a street kid, she sort of is. To us, she's like Carmen Electra or Eva Longoria. Celebrity. But Jorge wasn't ready for who she's become since leaving Miami, and what this world has done to her. You don't have those blinders on. See her for who she is, not who she was. You treat her like a real person, not someone who sits on a pedestal."

Daryl had never considered that perspective. In all of his musings over just why the hell she'd want to be with a man like him, the fact that he **didn't** know her hadn't factored in. Sure, he teased her about being a "City Girl," but how soft could her life have really been for Trish to survive the apocalypse as long as she had?

As they walked in silence, Daryl's mind drifted back to something else the boy had said. About what the world had done to her. The scars on her wrist. The brand on her shoulder. Surely, he had been referring to whatever monster had been the cause. Daryl shuddered, conjuring the image of Trish bound in some sociopath's basement. Starved. Beaten. Raped.

_Damn_, he thought. _No wonder she hates people._

"If you want her, man, she's yours. But you need to stake your claim."

"What'cha mean by that?" Daryl replied, dragging himself from his thoughts.

"Y'all are leaving, what? Tomorrow? Day after that, maybe?" Daryl nodded. He knew that Trish was feeling better and getting antsy for the road again. Shane and Rick had talked with him about the best time to leave the previous night, and he knew that most of the folks he had been traveling with were ready to be on the move. "Take a chance with her while you still have one. Don't hit the highway with regret hanging over your head."

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><p>Laundry had always been her favorite chore. It was quiet. Monotonous. It kept her busy but gave her time to think as well. And Trish had done her fair share of thinking that afternoon.<p>

As expected, Antonio had asked her to stay with the Vatos. She hadn't wanted to tell him "no," but there was no way she could keep herself in one place for long before the urge to keep moving beckoned. The compound was secure enough, for the time being, and Trish was sure others would find their way to it as well. It could be a thriving community in time. This place would be good for the Grimes family, who needed somewhere relatively safe and stable with a baby on the way, or Carol, whose motherly attentions had already won the hearts of several residents.

But Trish knew her future didn't lie in this place. True, she didn't know where it **did** reside, but the urge to move on overwhelmed the urge to stay now that she was finally feeling well enough to contemplate it. Absently, she grabbed a shirt off the line and folded it, fully aware that mixed amongst her belongings were Daryl's. She hadn't thought anything of it at first, but as she paused to stare at the tattered plaid in her hand, Trish knew that she wasn't following the group. She was following **him**.

Daryl and Miguel had arrived shortly before dinner, and had wolfed down their meals before disappearing again to wherever they had stashed the deer to butcher it properly. He'd nodded at her briefly from across the room, but otherwise said nothing. Other than the impromptu date two nights past, and the toe-tingling kiss the night before that, Daryl had made no advances while she'd been in bed recovering from her illness. Yet here she was, folding his laundry, debating if that simple act of domesticity meant more than it appeared.

Trish made quick work with the rest of the clothes, packing them into the rucksack she had also brought down to wash and throwing it over her shoulder. The main hall had all but cleared out for the night, but she knew the sentries would be out and it wasn't much of a walk back to the dormitory. Her ears picked up voices once she was out the door, and a glance in their direction had Trish wondering if her thoughts about Daryl had managed to conjure him.

He was talking to Jorge, about what exactly she couldn't tell, but he was covered in blood that still looked to be fresh. She quelled the panic as she remembered he had just butchered a buck, and a second look showed that he was only coated up to his elbows. Daryl dismissed Jorge with a shrug when he noticed Trish, and she stayed rooted to her spot on the porch as he made his way towards her.

"You're filthy," she observed, shifting her weight and raising an eyebrow. His step was much lighter than usual. The time he spent hunting must have lightened his mood, and Trish felt her lips tugging up into a smirk.

"It's worth it," said Daryl, stopping less than an arm's length away. There was light in his eyes that shone even in the dim light of the evening. She was certain she'd never seen it before.

"Hillbilly," she teased, taking a tentative step towards him and testing his boundaries.

"City Girl," he replied, closing the gap further. Her breath hitched ever-so-slightly as she realized Daryl had never gotten this close to her in public.

"You need a shower," commented Trish, wrinkling her nose as the metallic tang of fresh blood assaulted her. He didn't respond with words, and continued to slowly close the distance until he had cradled her head between his hands. Anything further she might have said disappeared when his lips touched hers and his fingers buried themselves into her hair. Then, just as quickly as he had descended on her, Daryl stepped back, a wicked grin spreading across his features. He brushed his thumb across the bridge of her nose, and Trish's eyes widened when she realized he had just smeared the blood on his hands across her face and in her hair.

"So do you," he teased, winking at her before turning on his heel and stalking towards the building.

**Song Credit** "Hunter" by 30 Seconds to Mars

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><p><em><strong>Holy Crapola! <strong>__Thank you all for your patience in waiting for me to update. 2012 was not kind to me, and Trish's tale sort of fell to the way-side while I dealt with life & worked on other projects. I know this one is fairly short, but there will be some NSFW goodies coming for you in the next one. It might be a few weeks until I can get it to you, but I promise it won't be a 10-month wait like this last one was._


	12. Chapter 12

****NSFW material ahead! You've been forwarned.****

_Let the world keep on turning._

_This chance could be the last._

_Don't let it go…_

It was a mistake. Daryl should never have been that forward with Trish. A woman like her with a man like him? What on earth had he been thinking?

He nearly hit the bathroom wall in his frustration before remembering what had brought Trish to him in the first place. This world wasn't the same as the one that would have kept them apart. It was dark, dangerous, and bloody. He wasn't one to believe in fate, but Daryl couldn't help but wonder if there was a reason they had met.

She hadn't followed him immediately. Even now, he stood in the bathroom alone, boots off and stripped to the waist, fiddling with the faucet and waiting for the promise of hot water. Leaning his head under the shower, Daryl tried to drown his doubts as water streamed down his face. Dirt and blood dripped to the tiles below and swirled down the drain. A lone drop trailed down his back, and his body stiffened as he felt a finger gently follow its path.

His scars. Jesus, he had forgotten that they were as plain as day with his shirt off and back turned to the door. Realistically, he knew that she would see them eventually, and after a moment Daryl relaxed to her touch. Trish was close enough that he could feel her breath on his shoulder, and he caught a glimpse of her auburn locks out of the corner of his eye. As her fingertips danced across his skin, taking inventory of every mark that had been left behind, her other hand went to his waist as she leaned into his side. Without thinking, he took that hand by the wrist and brought her knuckles to his lips. Daryl noticed that her nails had been cut and polished again, and he smiled against her fingers to see that tiny spark of her old self return.

Pulling his head out of the shower, Daryl turned slightly and skimmed his hand down her arm to her elbow. Gently, he led her to face him and cupped her head in both hands just as he had out in the courtyard. Trish's face was inches from his own, and her eyes danced with a myriad of emotions. Fear. Curiosity. And yes, desire was very much present as well.

"You sure?" he asked quietly. She gave a slight nod and it was all the incentive Daryl needed. All thoughts of what had brought them together melted away as soon as his mouth collided with hers. As their tongues fought for dominance, he fisted a hand in her hair and led her into the shower, clothes and all. They paused only for the briefest of moments as he pulled her shirt over her head, then backed her against the wall with renewed fervor. The blue satin bra she wore was grungy and faded from weeks spent on the road, but underneath the soaked fabric her nipples perked as Daryl ran his hand over her breast experimentally. He felt Trish's nails digging into his shoulders at the touch, and she hissed through her teeth as he dipped his head to replace his fingers with his lips while his hands went to unfasten her jeans.

"Shit, wait," she whispered heavily, and Daryl held his breath as she reached into one of her front pockets. When Trish hastily shoved a small package into his hand, he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Glenn and Maggie to the rescue?" he teased, his lips roaming to her neck and nipping her gently.

"No, Lor…oh, fuck," she replied, interrupted by a slightly harder bite. "Lori. But she raided their stash. And Jesus. Fucking. Christ. We need to get naked faster." Her words were punctuated with each brush of his teeth against her skin, and Daryl couldn't help but pull his head back and grin down at her.

"Easy enough."

Hands were everywhere as they hastily explored one another, unfastening and shimmying out of whatever clothes they had left. He honestly didn't pay attention to where any of it landed once it was out of the way. He was focused on the woman in front of him, chest heaving with need, body slick from the stream of water above them. Trish was glorious, gorgeous vision in an ugly world, and Daryl flushed when he realized she had been looking at him the same way.

"I know I ain't nothin' to…"

"Shut up," she interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips as he placed his palms against the wall on either side of her head. "You're beautiful."

Dumbfounded at her words, Daryl simply leaned in as she snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. It was slow, deep and intoxicating. As he melted into her, Trish slid her hands down his chest, across his belly and towards his groin. He knew she had somehow gotten the condom away from him, but Daryl couldn't help the involuntary buck of his hips as she took his already-throbbing cock in her hands and slid on their protection.

It was torturously slow. Daryl tore his mouth away from her and buried a groan into her shoulder at her touch. Every instinct told him to _go! Now! _He wanted to lose control and bury himself inside of her, but consciously he knew that to do so would completely ruin the moment. Trish wasn't a trophy to put on display. She wasn't a doll to be hidden away once she had been used. Whatever had been done to her needed to be undone.

She was positively tiny, Daryl noticed with a small twinge of apprehension, and it took no effort to lift her off the floor. Trish's core radiated heat, and it hovered just over the tip of his erection as she wrapped her legs around his back for balance. When she looked at him expectantly, her green eyes meeting his blue, Daryl braced her against the tile once more and slowly lowered her.

It was as if he had found heaven for the first time in his life. No adolescent groping or drunken fumbling could have prepared Daryl for the exquisite torture of being completely sheathed inside of Trish. She whimpered slightly once she had taken him fully, but when he looked at her face, he found her biting her lip to hold back a moan. There could've been no mistaking her expression for one of pain, and slowly he began to move.

It was like that at first. Gently thrusting, sliding in and out of Trish, building her up until she was writhing against him. She pulled Daryl closer, their torsos slick against one another, and he moved one arm across her back to brace her head from behind to keep it from hitting the wall. When she began to shudder, and dug her teeth into his shoulder to keep from screaming, Daryl moved faster, pushing himself to completion. As her inner walls clenched around him, he knew he was over.

Her name was on his lips when the orgasm exploded from him like nothing he had ever felt before, but it was a different thought entirely that filtered through the aftermath. They collapsed against the wall in blissful satisfaction, their bodies still joined, chests heaving as they gulped in precious air.

_Mine_, Daryl told her silently as he ran a hand across her temple and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Trish's ear. _Nobody else will touch you. Ever again._

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><p>Trish woke slowly to the dark silence of the dormitory. Next to her, Daryl slept soundly, blissfully unaware that he had curled himself around her with his back to the rest of the room. Yet he still had a knife under the nest of blankets they had thrown on the floor of her bunk space, and a pistol within arm's reach. If it hadn't been for those two details, she could almost force herself to imagine that there was nothing to fear. Nothing to worry about.<p>

She shivered involuntarily, dwelling for a brief moment on the horrors they had each faced both before and after the biological catastrophe that had thrown the world into chaos. The constant battles against the reanimated dead were wearisome, but those creatures were no worse than rabid animals. Avoid them when possible, kill them when necessary. But the human factor was what truly terrified Trish.

She hadn't told Daryl about what had happened at the compound outside Tallahassee. She hadn't needed to. He'd seen the scar more than once on their journey, and the look on his face had grown into one of disgust and fury. Not at her. Never at her. But it had made him cautious. Where other men wouldn't have understood, or flat out not cared, Daryl had kept his distance due to the mysterious code that only others who had been abused could ever understand.

And _his_ scars. _God_, Trish thought, _I hope that whatever monster did that to him is long dead. _A majority of them were old enough to have faded, but there was no way he had acquired the most severe in adulthood. Daryl wasn't exactly a twitchy sort, but it had been obvious to Trish that after surviving the abuse he had endured in his youth, he rarely let his guard down.

And yet he had done it for her. Had put faith in the belief that for at least one night, he could slip out of survival mode to act the part of a lover. Beneath the rough exterior, Daryl Dixon had a heart of gold. Tough and badass when he needed to be, which was most of the time, but gentle when he knew that anger would be counterproductive. And smarter than anyone else in the group gave him credit for, with Carol the only exception.

"Can't sleep?" Trish heard him whisper, his words hot against her neck.

"How'd you guess?" she replied with a small smile, rolling in his arms to face him. There was just enough light to reflect off his eyes, and she knew Daryl was doing his best to read her expression.

"You breathe differently."

"You've made a habit of watching me breathe?"

"Can feel it. Goin' on two months now of sharing sleeping space, City Girl. I'd be a right sorry hunter if I didn't learn your habits." While he spoke, one hand had begun skimming the bare skin on her belly, a subtle reminder that they had fallen into bed completely nude following their shower.

"You haven't gotten me completely figured out, Hillbilly," she teased, moving her own fingers across his shoulders. They lay like that for what seemed to be an eternity, silently exploring one another in the dark, navigating their way across one another in a way they hadn't been able to earlier in the night. He found the ticklish spot behind her knee. She learned that running her hands in his hair relaxed him.

Minutes, possibly hours passed by, and eventually their touches grew bolder, returning to the spots that did more than just relax or tickle, and replacing fingertips with lips and tongues. In those moments, there were no walls between them. No emotional barriers. No fear. And for the first time Trish was able to finally admit that somewhere along the way she had fallen in love. She dared not to hope that Daryl felt the same. She'd never ask it of him. These stolen memories would be locked away in her heart and cherished regardless of what their future held.

But as their love play finally came to an end and they curled up together, satisfied and physically drained, Trish had no way of knowing that Daryl's thoughts had mirrored her own.

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><p><strong>**Disclaimer: Kirkman still owns "The Walking Dead." I still own Trish.**<strong>

**Lyric credit: "We Own Tonight" by NKOTB**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sixteen Months Later**

"You are my Sunshine, my only Sunshine…"

The soft voice lulled Daryl from the first decent night's rest he'd had in weeks, but the complaint that would have slipped from his lips fell short as he saw the babe suckling at his mother's breast. The boy had her fiery hair, his own bright blue eyes, and an incredibly calm demeanor that neither parent possessed. Dim light from the wood stove illuminated Trish and his son in such a way that Daryl knew the moment would be stamped in his memory for the rest of his life.

Young Dale would be their only child. He knew that as soon as Carol thrust the child into his arms two months prior while frantically trying to save Trish's life. What medical knowledge they had was the only thing that had saved her, lessons learned from losing Lori the previous winter. After too many hardships, and several more losses, Daryl finally succumbed to the inevitable conclusion that returning to the Vatos compound was in the best interest of all. Had they stayed in the mountains of Tennessee, he would have lost the woman he loved, and Daryl knew that he would have likely slipped down the same spiral of despair that had lured Rick into following his wife towards the oblivion of death.

During Trish's pregnancy, Daryl and some of the other scouts had found a small campground with three cabins less than an hour's walk from the compound. It made for a small sub-community for the remaining survivors from Atlanta and their slowly growing families. Glen and Maggie had taken on parenting young Judith, with Carol adopting two young girls from a family they had come across during their travels. Carl had opted to stay with the Vatos, growing into his role as a hunter and protector with the other young men.

It hadn't been an easy year and a half. Hell, it hadn't been an easy three years since the infection burned its way across the globe. But people were learning to adapt. Finding ways to survive. Learning to live, thrive, and continue even when the dead came walking.

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><p><em><strong>**Disclaimer** <strong>_**"Walking Dead" belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC.**

**Ok, I hate having to end it like this, but I've been at a stalemate with this story since last Spring and didn't want to just leave it hanging. It's not much of a conclusion, but it's better than nothing, right? However, I am not abandoning "Walking Dead" to the sea of fan fiction projects I'm wrapped up in. I have a new one I've been juggling with in the back of my head, and hope to get it started within the next week or two. (Anyone interested in seeing an alternate show storyline where Amy lives?)**

**Thank you for all of the lovely reviews, follows, favorites and messages in regards to this story. Hopefully I will do right by you all with the next project. **


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